


War Dogs

by The_lazy_eye



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Dreams and Nightmares, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, more tags will be added as stuff happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-06-05 12:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15171128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/pseuds/The_lazy_eye
Summary: He knows he should ease off a little bit but he can’t get his bearings. Something isn’t right. He scans his room a couple times. Everything seems in order but there’s something settling in the pit of his stomach. This deep unease.Or Richie deals with the aftermath of IT.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What are commas? What is verb tense? What is dialog? Stay tuned, maybe I'll find out.
> 
> So hey, welcome to my first multi chapter fic! Kind of getting ambitious here but I've always wanted to work with Richie and how he deals with the trauma of IT, so this is kind of going to be that. This is going to be a Reddie fic so just bear with me for a hot minute while we get there. I also plan on making this a healthy dose of bookverse and movieverse. I'm about halfway through the novel so please forgive me if I'm missing anything or if things aren't quite right.
> 
> Come talk to me at reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com!

Fuck, it was hot. Like, so, so hot. He wasn’t even moving and he could still feel sweat beading on the back of his neck. He was uncomfortable, lying face down on his mattress but he knew switching positions again would just make it worse. More movement, more energy, more heat.

Derry was front and center for the first heat wave of the summer and fuck was it brutal. He had heard on the radio this morning that highs were going to be up to 96. They didn’t own an air conditioner, only a couple of box and standing fans placed strategically throughout the house to increase circulation. It didn’t matter, though. Every inch of his house was _sweltering_.

He debated getting up going to another room. He didn’t have a box fan in his room. His parents wouldn’t give him one no matter how much he begged. He pulled out all of the stops, every voice he could do, but none of it worked. _Richie, we need the more powerful fans in the halls and living room. It’s not fair to hog one up in your room all to yourself_. Yeah, okay, right. So now he was stuck with a shitty standing fan oscillating in the corner of his room closest to his open window which was, in Richie’s humble opinion, completely unfair. He was practically sweating his balls off and it wasn’t even 1pm.

After a couple minutes of going back and forth about relocating to the living room he decided to just stay put. This was partially out of pure laziness and partially because he would have to put clothes on. His mom hated when he walked around the house in his boxers and that was just a fight he didn’t have the energy for. Maybe if it wasn’t fuck-all degrees outside he would be up for some back and forth with Maggie but Christ, not today.

He could feel himself dozing off. He had fully intended to go get his rocks off somewhere today. He was going to make his rounds, maybe knock on Bill’s door and get some good chucks. Grab one Miss Marsh and light a couple cigs down at the Barrens. Maybe see if good old Stan the Man wanted to whack a couple balls around down at Tractor Brother’s lot. All those plans have gone to shit. _Not today_ , he thinks, _I have all summer for that. Not today._

He’s not sure how long he lays there, in and out of sleep, gangly limbs all sprawled out on his bed. The heat crawls down his spine and rests itself in his skin. He feels heavy and tired and stuck, like he can’t move. Like he’ll never move again. He’s going to be stuck right here on his bed for all of eternity. He can’t even tell the difference between reality and his dreams when he hears a what might be knock at his door.

“Good God, Rich, it must be 100 degrees in this room. What are you doing still up here?” Maggie’s voice is faint, like someone who’s far away even though he knows she’s standing right over his mattress. He can’t even manage to lift his head, exhaustion crowding his limbs and his mind. “Come on, Richie. Get up. I brought you some iced lemonade. This should cool you down.”

He feels the bed dip on his left side, a clear indication she’s sat down next to him. His head is cloudy. His whole world feels like it has tilted off its axis. He still can’t manage to talk, so he lets out some kind of noise resembling a whine and a grumble. He hears her chuckle and set the glass on his nightstand. It’s quiet for a second, and then he feels a jolt of cold, cold, cold slide down his back. He all but flies off his bed, smacking Maggie in her upper arm on his way.

“What the fuck!” comes out of him more on autopilot than from an actual fully formed thought. Looks like he can talk after all.

When he looks at his bed, frantic and breathing hard he sees Maggie doubled over and clutching her sides. She’s laughing so hard she isn’t even making noise. There’s an ice cube melting into his sheets. _That bitch._

When she’s calmed down enough to talk she says, “Come on, Richie. It’s after four and your father will be home soon. Why don’t you put on some shorts and come downstairs? It’s cooler. I won’t even rake you put a shirt on.”

“Fucking hell, Maggie, give a guy some warning, won’t ya?” He’s practically slurring, still not quite out of his sleep. Despite his rude awakening he can’t shake the heavy weights in his arms and legs.

“ _Richard_ , I did- “

“You know I hate it when you call me _Richard._ ” His tone is biting. He knows he should ease off a little bit but he can’t get his bearings. _Something isn’t right_. He scans his room a couple times. Everything seems in order but there’s something settling in the pit of his stomach. This deep unease. He tries to chalk it off to being abruptly woken up by the cruel hands of his own mother.

“You know I hate it when you call me Maggie,” she quips back, not unkindly. She’s looking at him fondly, like he isn’t the world’s biggest pain in the ass son. She reaches back and grabs the lemonade, handing it to him. “Come on, Richie. Get some pants on and come downstairs. You know your father wouldn’t be pleased to know you’ve been up in your room sleeping all day.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay _mom_ ,” he rolls his eyes as he takes the glass from her hand. The glass feels like heaven in his hands. When he takes a sip he can feel the cold juice run from the base of this throat all the way into his stomach. Jesus, he must really be burning up. “God this is delicious. Hits the spot real good momsie my dear!” he says, slipping into the British Guy, “I say, I say, right good in the old tum!”

She chuckles and smiles fondly at him again. Richie can feel himself slowly ease out of whatever the fuck he was feeling a minute ago. He falls into an easy smile and begins to move around his room and dig for some shorts. When he finds what he’s looking for and turns around Maggie’s gone.

He moves to the edge of his bed and sits down, knocking the mostly melted ice off his bed and into the trash can below. He looks around his nightstand and grabs his glasses before moving either foot into his shorts and wiggling them up his gangly body. He began to shoot up like a bean stalk at 14 and now, at the ripe old age of 15 he was five foot eight inches and practically towering over his friends. You’d think with someone who’s growing as fast as Richie he would also maybe be filling out the gaps in other areas, like his thighs or his chest, but no. Richie is five foot eight inches of thin, lanky mess. Whatever, it’s not like anyone who mattered really cared if he was as tall as a stop sign and as thin as a blade of grass.

After his shorts are on and he gulps down some more of his lemonade, he sits leans back on his hands, lets his head loll back, and closes his eyes. Any feeling of dread or unease he had when he woke up was all but gone now. He didn’t feel like his world was turning off its axis and he would be the first to fall. He didn’t feel like someone was watching him, waiting. He didn’t feel the piercing need to run, run far away. Run now, before it’s too late 

“Fuck, what was that all about?” he opens his eyes and looks at the ceiling, thinking out loud to himself. _Maybe it was heat stroke_. _Maybe it was just a fucked-up dream._ “But I can’t remember it all. I just remember- “

He abandons his train of thought, abruptly standing and grabbing what’s left of his lemonade. _Nope, not doing this right now_. He wanders out of his room and down into the kitchen, where he knows Maggie will be prepping something for dinner. She was right, it’s probably a whole ten degrees cooler on the bottom floor than it was in his room. The change in temperature feels good on his skin.

He puts his glass in the sink before settling on one of the stools by his breakfast bar. They lived in a modest, two story house. It was always clean and he always had something to eat. He spent most of his time either up in his room with his radio and comic books or down in the living room watching something on the TV. When he was in the kitchen, though, his favorite place was the breakfast bar. He would do his homework there when he was younger while Maggie or Went cooked. He couldn’t be trusted to focus long enough on his own to get it all done, so they would watch him every day and help him when he needed it. He would spend an hour or two making voices at them before dinner, trying to get through his homework. If he did he was allowed to watch a show or read a comic book. He no longer needs to do his work in the kitchen but he does sometimes, anyway.

They sit together in comfortable silence for a little while. Maggie, stirring her pots on the stove and humming some tune to herself. Richie, deep in his own thoughts. Now, not even fifteen minutes later he couldn’t remember any of his dream. He couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It’s not like this is the first time something like this has happened. He wakes up all the time in the middle of the night, sweating and heart pounding. He falls asleep almost as quick as he wakes up and by the time morning rolls around he has no idea had him so shaken. Sometimes he can remember people, ghosts almost. They drift past him, close but so far. He can never really make out who they are and if he can he can’t remember by the time he wakes up. It’s them that freak him out more than anything. They’re not mangled or broken or bloody but there’s something about them that makes him want to get as far away as he can. It’s like one of them was in his room when he woke up before.

A car door slamming brings him right back out of his thoughts. He doesn’t even need to glance at the clock on the stove to know what time it is. It’s 5:15, right on time as always. Wentworth Tozier saunters through the front door, kicks his loafers off by the mat, and sets his briefcase down on the end table by the couch. By the time he’s made his way into the kitchen his tie is loosened and the top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone. Everything is how it should be.

“Christ almighty it’s a scorcher out there!” He says before swooping in to kiss Maggie on the cheek. “Pip pip tally ho my good boy!” comes out next in a voice not at all different from how Went says everything else. _God, it’s like he isn’t even trying._

“That’s gotta be the _worst_ British accent I have ever heard,” Richie drawled out at his dad.

Yeah, everything is normal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Richie firmly believing Bill knows him best out of all the other Losers this is not a conversation he’s about to have. He knows Bill can see right through his jokes, but he also knows Bill understands when he tilts his head to the side and starts going off in an absolutely god awful Australian accent about the trials and tribulations of sleeping at night when there are so many hot chicks to bang.

The following days were spent drifting in between Losers. They couldn’t seem to get everyone together at the same time. Stan hardly ever leaves his house, he hasn’t much since last summer. Beverly had chores with her aunt. Mike had constant work to do at his farm and Ben was offered a part time job at the library, considering he basically lived there. Eddie’s mom seemed to be on the war path recently, too. It was like he was never allowed out. Anytime Bill knocked on his door or called his mom was quick to deflect. It was always, “Oh, Eddie-bear isn’t feeling so well today,” or “Eddie has some yardwork he has to get done.” God forbid Richie ever try, that door would be in his face in a heartbeat. 

Thankfully, for the first time in over a week Eddie got the clear from his mother to leave the house. He was sprawled out on an old recliner in the Denbrough garage. On the couch to his right Richie was on his back with his head on Bill’s legs, his own legs dangling off the arm rest on the other side. Bill had accepted his fate before Richie even sat down. Richie was a sprawler and a toucher. Plus, Bill didn’t mind so much. The heat had finally broken and it was a much cooler 80 degrees outside as opposed to the previous 95.

Bill had placed his father’s old radio on a stool in the corner of the garage. It wasn’t the best radio, it was old and the sound was a little distorted but it worked. Kurt Cobain could be heard crooning through the empty spaces. _I'll take advantage while you hang me out to dry. But I can't see you every night, free_. Low but not too quiet. Richie was swinging his foot to the beat, humming along.

They spent the first part of the day together just catching up. Richie gave Eddie extra shit to make up for lost time. No one has really seen him since school let out a few weeks ago. When Eddie appeared in the opening of Bill’s garage he looked out of breath and flushed from the heat. His hair was mused and his green polo was out of place.

“Jesus, Eds, you run a marathon before you came over? You look like an out of shape Road Runner!” Richie cackled at him. He received little in response other than a middle finger and a very pointed glare. If looks could kill Eddie would have several people six feet under by now, Richie included.

Eddie isn’t glaring at him now, though. He’s staring off, out the door of the garage. He’s got one of his legs swung over the arm of the recliner and the other resting on the floor. He’s nestled quite comfortably looking into the corner of the chair. He’s staring at the sky, which is a pale blue with puffy white clouds dancing across it. It looks like a picture a second grader draw. It’s almost comical, Richie thinks. Eddie on the other hand, is not comical. He looks serious. His lips are turned down. His brown eyes are a shade darker than normal, framed by pinched eyebrows and dark bags under his eyes. His eyes look worse than Richie’s. _Has Eddie been having weird dreams, too?_ He looks like this every time they see him these days. Eddie shows up, snaps at Richie a few times, and anyone else who happens to step out of line with him, and then has to go home for supper. He’s still fun to be around but he’s a little more cranky than normal. Richie knows he has been fighting with his mom. About what, he has no idea, but started sometime during the school year. Every time he asks how things are at home, even when he’s trying to be serious, Eddie shuts him down. 

He wants to ask right now. He also wants to stand up, walk right over to Eddie, and sit down on him. He wants to grab his face and mess up his hair and annoy the shit out of him. He won’t do either of those things, though. Eddie’s already snapped at him once today. The last time Eddie got seriously angry at Richie was in March, right before Richie’s birthday. Richie had been going on and on about banging Eddie’s mom. Somehow the conversation had flipped to talking about Eddie banging Monica, a girl in their geometry class. Eddie had told him to shut the fuck up but that wasn’t out of the ordinary so he kept going, talking about all the sweet ass Kaspbrak would get as soon as he shot up a couple inches and how he should really get on Richie’s level. Not that Richie has lost his virginity yet, but that’s never stopped him from pretending he has. Eddie ended up flipping his shit and storming out of the lunch room. He didn’t talk to him for almost an entire week, right up until the day of Richie’s 15thbirthday. It was agonizing. Richie would rather not repeat it.

Richie doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Eddie looks at him. He makes a face like something of a cross between relaxed and confused. His eyes soften but his eyebrows arch. His face also deepens a few shades, but his middle finger is up again at lightning speed. Richie just offers a toothy grin to Eddie’s finger and makes a couple kissy face noises.

“Shu-shut the fuck up, Richie,” comes from above him. When he looks up Bill isn’t even looking at him. His eyes are closed and his head is leaning back against the couch.

“I wasn’t even talking!”

 “You were making noises and they were an-an-anoy-“ Bill stops, takes a deep breath in and lets it out with a slow exhale, “annoying” he finishes. Bill’s stutter has gotten considerably better since last summer. His mom has been driving him out to Bangor once a week all year for his speech therapy lessons and it’s been working wonders. He still stutters but he can get full thoughts out and a lot of the time he’s able to finish the word he gets stuck on. Richie’s impressed and makes sure to tell him every now and then.

 “Sure Bill, but even just sitting there he’s annoying.” Eddie shoots from his chair. He’s shifted positions now, both legs up against his chest with his arms hugging them tightly. He’s still staring at Richie and his cheeks are still tinted. 

Richie just groans, “This isn’t fair, it’s two against one! 

"“Yeah but you have the energy of, like, three people. So really, it’s three against two and it’s not fair for us,” Bill says. His head is still against the back of the couch and his eyes are still closed but there’s a smile playing on his lips.  

Eddie hums in agreement before standing up, “Sorry Bill, looks like it’s about to be three against one.”

“Oh, come on, Eds! You’re leaving already? What am I supposed to do for the rest of the night without your cute face to stare at?” Richie whines, getting to his feet also. He fully intends to take that recliner as soon as Eddie’s gone.

“Fuck off, Richie, and don’t call me ‘Eds’ you know I hate that. My mom wants me home before dinner and if I piss her off there’s no way she’s going to let me come down to the Barrens next week.” After a few hours of phone tag, the Losers had settled on next Friday to go down to the Barrens and hang out. It would be the first day all summer that all of them could be together and it was way overdue if you asked Richie. 

“Eddie Spaghetti, you love me. You know you do, admit it!” Richie was making grabby hands for Eddie but before he could make his way over the smaller boy slipped out of the garage and was standing on the sidewalk. Richie sat down in the vacant chair, throwing both legs over the arm similarly to how he was sitting on the couch with Bill.

“Ugh! I do not love you, _trashmouth._ I have to go. I’ll see you guys next week?” Eddie didn’t wait to a response, he was already walking down the street.

“Not sooner? But Eddie! Wait! I can’t live without my precious noodles!” Richie shouted back, grinning wide. He couldn’t see Eddie anymore but he could practically feel the shorter boy flipping him off behind his back as he walked home.

Bill sighed from beside him, “You really should lay off him, Rich. One day he’s guh-gonna knock you out.”

“I would be so honored, Big Bill” was all Richie came back with. Bill had shifted on the couch and was now laying down on his side. He was starting to get taller and had to bend his knees to keep his feet on the cushions. He didn’t bother replying to Richie. He had his eyes closed and he looked like he was going to fall asleep. Richie didn’t get it, they had hardly done anything all day. How could Bill be tired?

Richie stared at Bill for a moment before rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling. Bill had definitely changed over the last year. His hair was longer and more in his eyes. He had grown, too, but not as much as Richie. He was the third tallest of their group, behind Mike but in front of Stan. His eyes were sunken in slightly. They were darker, but not from bags like himself and Eddie. Bill had the eyes of someone who had seen dark, dark things. _We’ve all seen them_ , he thinks.

His thoughts wander off in that direction for a little while. Around this time last year was when he and Bill went to 29 Neibolt for the first time. They had climbed into the basement through a window and saw the werewolf. It almost got them. Richie thought for sure they were going to die there. He could remember screaming with Bill’s hands in his while the werewolf tried to pull Bill away. IT gave Richie a nasty hit to the head when they were speeding away on Silver. Bill held him in the streets while he cried and then cleaned the blood out of his face and eyes in this very garage. Fuck, he hadn’t thought about that in months. He almost forgot it happened at all. He used to check himself in the mirror a few times a week to see if his forehead was going to scar. It didn’t, in the end, but he had been worried.

He has no idea how much time passes while he’s thinking about Neibolt. Nirvana has long since ended and now Bon Jovi is playing from the radio. Richie tilts his head back towards Bill, who’s now sitting cross legged and has a soda open in his left hand. He looks relaxed, nothing like how Richie feels.

“Hey Bill,” the words are out of his mouth before he can really think about it, “do you still get nightmares?” Bill looks over at him. He doesn’t answer right away, just studies Richie. Its unnerving, having Big Bill look at you like that. Richie looks anywhere but him. A couple beats pass between them.

“Sometimes, yeah,” Bill starts, “I mean, I think we all ge-get them. I would be surprised if one of us didn’t.” They make eye contact for a brief moment before Bill continues, “Why, Rich? Something on your mind?”

Despite Richie firmly believing Bill knows him best out of all the other Losers this is not a conversation he’s about to have. He knows Bill can see right through his jokes, but he also knows Bill understands when he tilts his head to the side and starts going off in an absolutely god awful Australian accent about the trials and tribulations of sleeping at night when there are so many hot chicks to bang. 

This goes on for a few minutes until Bill cuts him off with an, “Alright Richie, whatever. Don’t tell me.” Richie doesn’t even have time to slip into another idiotic voice when he feels Bill’s empty soda can connect with the side of his head.

Oh, it’s _on_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you for the support for the first chapter! I really didn't think I'd get chapter 2 out so fast and I don't expect chapter three to be out this fast, but who knows. I'm not used to having this much free time. 
> 
> Here is some information I left out of the first chapter notes because I wrote that chapter with very little of this fic actually planned out:  
> This is going to follow the IT 2017 timeline. This fic takes place roughly one year after they face IT for the first time, so June 1990. They've just finished school for the year and it's the beginning of summer. 
> 
> The ages are as follows:   
> Richie 15 (newly/oldest)  
> Bill 14 (15 in Jan)  
> Eddie 14 (15 in November)  
> Stan 13 (14 in July)  
> Ben 14 (newly)  
> Mike 13 (14 in July)  
> Beverly 14 (15 in Feb)
> 
> I would love any and all feedback! If you see inconsistencies/grammar/spelling or anything of the like please don't hesitate to point it out. 
> 
> Come talk to me at reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just to spite her, Richie breaks open the gum he grabbed and slips a piece into his mouth. He stands on his toes and drapes himself over the counter before blowing an impressive bubble and popping it as loud as he can. He was hoping for the pop to startle her, but she doesn’t even acknowledge it. She just keeps opening boxes and stocking pills. 
> 
> “What’s up Gretta? Daddy got you running the shop all alone today?”

This summer is proving to be something of a bust. More often than not Richie has been finding himself alone. It’s already three weeks into vacation and The Losers have yet to hang out as a group once. Their day at the Barrens is tomorrow but right now Richie is insufferably bored. He’s been trying to busy himself with stuff around his house but he can only stomach so many reruns on TV before he goes insane.

That’s how he found himself walking though city center – sheer, unadulterated boredom. He was walking down Center Street, away from the Paul Bunyan statue and towards the Aladdin. He could easily swing a right and head over to Bassey Park, but instead he keeps straight. The sun is high in the sky and it beats down on Richie, hard. There isn’t a cloud in sight He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s going to get sunburn, but true to his careless nature he ignores it. He’s going to get burnt tomorrow anyway, might as well get a kick start on it now.

Richie is so pale that he practically reflects sunlight. He can already hear Eddie harping on him about wearing sunscreen. All of the other Losers have given up on this. Whenever they used to go down to the Barrens he would always opt for the shirtless look. Eddie hates it. He followed Richie around all day and would practically force sun screen on him. Its more trouble than it’s worth for Eddie. Richie would just chase him around and throw him over his shoulder. It never matters in the end, Richie always goes home looking like a lobster and spends the following three days in his bathtub with a bottle of aloe and some comic books. It’s practically a summer tradition.

He passes the intersection of Canal and Center and kicks a rock he sees on the pavement. The rock kicks up about two feet in the air and flies several feet forward, landing on the sidewalk. Richie just follows it and continues to kick it all the way up to the Aladdin. He pauses outside and considers going in. He has enough cash in his pockets for a few tickets. The last time he saw Stan he had mentioned wanted to catch a movie. _Why didn’t I make plans with Stan today? Was Stan busy?_ crosses Richie’s mind, but as soon as he thinks it it’s gone, floating up and away from him.

Standing there, outside of the Aladdin theater, Richie feels it again. It’s been a few days since the incident in his room but it’s happening now. He can feel this uneasiness wash over him. It starts at the base of his spine and crawls up, sinking into his chest. There’s something off about the Aladdin. On the outside everything appears normal. The old lady who handles the tickets is in her booth. She’s facing away from Richie, bent over and rummaging through something just below the counter. He watches her for a moment.

_Something isn’t right._

Richie stands there for another minute or two, long enough for anyone around to notice him and think something is wrong. He can feel eyes on him but he doesn’t dare turn around to look. His arms are tingling and his legs feel jittery.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep, steadying breath and turns away from the Aladdin. He can do this, everything is fine. When he turns to look over his shoulder at the inevitable gaze of the Derry townsfolk, no one is there. The street behind and in front of him is empty. He’s completely alone on Center Street, save for the ticket lady.

Richie leaves his rock by the doors of the theater and presses on. He has no destination, no idea where he is going. He can’t even really remember why he left his house or where he was before this. Its disorienting. He was sure, before he stopped, that he was going somewhere. Maybe Bassey Park? No, that was too close to that god-awful statue.

Maybe Stan was free today. Maybe he could head down and knock on his door. Stan’s father would let him in like he always does and Richie would spend the rest of the day with Stan up in his room. They would shoot the shit, he would tease Stan, and they could mess around with the card games Stan keeps on his bookshelf. It would be nice for Stan to have company. Richie sometimes feels guilty that he doesn’t go over more, but he knows Bill does. In fact, Bill is probably over there right now. Richie could go over and hang out with both of them. Maybe between the two of them Richie and Bill could get Stan to go bird watching. Richie would sit through a few hours of listening to boring facts about birds if it got Stan out of his house.

For reasons unknown to Richie, he doesn’t change his course. He continues down Center Street past the intersection for Kansas. It’s like something is pulling him down the road. His chest is still burning. Every time he so much as blinks he can feel someone watching him. No one is on the street but he swears to God he can feel it. It makes him want to tear his skin off just to stop the crawling sensation.

When he comes to Center Street Drugstore he dips in the front door. Maybe some shelter will help put him at ease. Just like the street outside, the store is completely deserted. He has no idea what time it is but Richie would think for a Thursday at least one person would he in here picking up a prescription or buying some toothpaste. When he was younger he used to hang in the alley outside and bother people as they went in and out. Mr. Keene would come out with a broom and chase him off but he was always too slow to catch Richie and whoever his partner in crime at the time was.

Mr. Keene isn’t here now, though. It’s quiet, eerie. Richie grabs a pack of gum off of one of the shelves and slowly makes his way towards the back of the store. Maybe Gretta is working today. Maybe he can bother her. He’ll lean across the counter, pester her for a pack of Winston’s, do a voice or two, and get a rise out of her.

The counter comes into view and Richie breathes a sigh of relief. Gretta is there stocking medication against the back wall. Her hair is pulled back into a pony tail. She has the vest her father makes her wear at work draped over a white tank top with matching pale blue shorts. She looks just how she always does: like an absolute bitch. The only thing missing is the telltale sign of bubblegum popping. Just to spite her, Richie breaks open the gum he grabbed and slips a piece into his mouth. He stands on his toes and drapes himself over the counter before blowing an impressive bubble and popping it as loud as he can. He was hoping for the pop to startle her, but she doesn’t even acknowledge it. She just keeps opening boxes and stocking pills.

“What’s up Gretta? Daddy got you running the shop all alone today?” he drawls, picking up a box of condoms from the rack near the register. No response.

“Such a shame, it’s a gorgeous day outside. It must be lonely in here. Good thing I stopped in to give you some company.” He pretends to flip the condom box over and read it but he’s studying her. She continues to give him the cold shoulder.

“You know, Gretta,” he tries for a third time, “I think I’m gonna need to buy a pack of these. I got me some big plans this weekend.”  He rattles the box at her. Of course, he has absolutely no need to buy the condoms, but Gretta always reacts to his stupid sex jokes. She never passes up an opportunity to scoff at Richie and make some snide comment about his teeth or glasses or overall ugliness and Richie is dying for something from her. A scoff, a laugh, a groan, even an insult. Anything to show that she’s a real fucking person and not a bag of meat that has been possessed by monsters or aliens or ghosts.

Still, she gives him nothing. She just continues to move about the back of the cubby. She never even spares Richie a glance over her shoulder.

“Fine, fuck you, too, Gretta,” he spits, turning around and chucking the box of condoms at her over his shoulder. He assumes it hits her because he never hears it hit the ground.

Whatever sense of normalcy he hoped to get from coming in here has completely shattered. The feeling in his chest has morphed into a burning need to run and spread into his entire body. He pockets his gum and comes out of the shop, hanging a hard-left down Center and then another left onto Kansas. He’s walking fast, much faster than he was before. Richie feels hallow. He feels it in his head, in his chest, in his bones. Every breathe he takes makes him feel emptier. He has to get home. If he can just get home he knows he’ll feel safe. Maybe he’s just tired or dehydrated or something. He doesn’t remember eating anything today so he figures he’ll go home, grab a bite to eat, and then hole up in his room. His bed sounds like the safest place on Earth right now. It’s definitely safer than out here on Kansas Street, right in the open.

Richie has no idea how long he’s walking for. He passes people this time, on the sidewalk but he doesn’t really see them. He keeps his head low and he walks quickly. He knows he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he looked up to find all of them staring at him.

He comes up to his door quickly, much quicker than he thought he would. He doesn’t waste time checking the mail or anything like that, he just grabs the doorknob and throws himself inside. When he’s inside and the door’s slammed shut, he presses his back up against it and squeezes his eyes shut. He takes one, two, three deep breaths and tries to ground himself. He thought being in his own home would ease the pressure on his lungs but it hasn’t. It’s worse. His throat is tight and his chest is heavy and he cannot fucking breathe. _Something is wrong. Something is so terribly, awfully wrong._ In the back of his head he knows it. He knows it more than anything else, more than the sky is blue and he is Richie Tozier and something is not fucking right.

He pushes himself off the door and goes to make his way through his house when he feet get caught in a sheet. He comes down hard, smacking his head off the dark wood floor.

_The floor in my hallway is carpeted._

Richie lays there for a moment, too scared to move. His blood is running ice, ice cold and his arms are shaking where they’re pressed up against the floor. He’s not in his house. He’s not home and he knows where he is but god, he hopes he’s wrong.

Slow, slow, slow, Richie pushes himself off the ground. He keeps his eyes trained on the ground for a moment before looking up and taking in his surroundings. Its dark and musty, dust is dancing around in the streaks of sunlight that are coming in from the windows on his right. There’s broken furniture all around him that’s either fallen apart already or is covered in a white sheet similar to the one wrapped around his shoes.

Fucking hell, he’s in the old house on Neibolt Street. _How the fuck did this even happen?_

Before he has time to really process what’s happening around him he hears someone calling his name from the top floor.

“Richie! Richie is that you? Please, help me! I’m stuck up here!”

Fuck, it’s _Eddie_.

Richie fucking blanches. He doesn’t even think before he’s pushing off and booking it towards the staircase. He takes them two at a time and trips about three quarters of the way up before crawling the rest of the way. He’s terrified out of his mind and frantic to get to Eddie. He has to get to him. He has to get them out of this fucking house before it’s too late. Before they fucking die in here.

“Richie! Please! Hurry!”

“Eddie! Eddie, hold on I’m coming!” He scrambles across the floorboards and down the hallway. The first two rooms he checks are empty. The only option left is the room at the other end of the hallway.

_“Richie!”_

He turns on his heels and sprints. The door is closed but he braces himself and throws his shoulder against the door as hard as he possibly can. The hinges give out and the door breaks in with Richie toppling over it. He finds himself face down on the floor for the second time in only minutes. He’s laying at Eddie’s feet, the other boy barely even a meter away from him. He’s about to breathe a sigh of relief when he looks up and see the werewolf, _the fucking werewolf_ , letterman jacket and all, staring down at him.

Richie isn’t even aware he’s screaming. He has no idea until he feels hands on him, claws digging into his skin, and he realizes he closed his eyes. He fights, pushing those hands away and trying to crawl back as fast as he can. Everything around him is dark and he’s so, so hot. He can feel sweat pouring off of his forehead and down his neck. He’s certain he’s going to die here.

He begins to realize the beast is talking to him, but it doesn’t make any sense. The voice isn’t rough or gravely like a monster should be. It isn’t even Eddie’s voice like he swore he heard coming from this room. It’s panicked, high, and very feminine.

“Richie, please! Wake up!”

It’s Maggie. Maggie is in Neibolt. IT’s taken her shape and IT’s going to use his own mother to kill him.

“Richie, _please_. You’re just dreaming. Richie, it’s a nightmare, wake up.”

Wake up. _Wake up._ Holy shit he’s asleep. Well, not anymore. He’s very much awake. He stops fighting his mother and stills, looking around frantically, heart absolutely pounding out of his chest and tears streaming down his face. He’s in his room. He can make out the vague posters on his wall and the window on the right wall. He sees Maggie, leaning close in front of him, concern written all over her features.

He’s not in Neibolt. He never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again! Thanks for the support! I am dead set on completing this fic and I have basically the entire thing planned out and I’m pumped about it. 
> 
> I’m actually really excited about this chapter, specifically. I’ve had this planned out since this idea popped into my head and it was really fun to write. My goal here was to write the chapter as if it were reality, include some weird stuff but (hopefully) play it off as anxiety, and to the reader that it was a dream at the very end. Please let me know how I did. If you figured it out early I’d love to know where! I really just want this chapter to be as fun to read as it was to write.
> 
> Come talk to me at reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben was staring down at him, his laugh matching Richie’s, Stan and Bill were in front of him, Eddie and Bev were to his right, Mike to his left. It was perfect. Nothing could possibly bring him down from this high.

Richie was laced with adrenaline and excitement, barreling down the path that lead to their spot in the Barrens when he sees them. Its honestly a miracle he doesn’t trip and break his neck and Eddie makes sure to tell him this once he’s on the solid ground of the bank near the Kenduskeag.

By the time he makes it there all of the other Losers have already set up camp. Bill and Stan have their feet in the water, shirts off, and are sitting so close their shoulders are touching. Stan hardly acknowledged Richie when he comes down the bank but Richie can see the affectionate smile playing on his lips. Bill, on the other hand, turned his torso so he is facing Richie and is grinning so bright he could put the sun out of business. Bev is laying out on her towel with a couple magazines next to her and Eddie on her right side. He saw them flipping through a copy of Vogue on his way down and stored that information away to tease them both later.

“What the fuck is up, fellow Losers!” he cheered, throwing himself down next to Ben. Ben was dressed in much more weather appropriate clothing than he did when they first met. Last summer Ben Hanscom was not seen without a pair of jeans and a hoodie to cover up his body. Now, he wore a t-shirt and shorts. Both were baggy on him but it was a step up from last summer. Ben, like the others, had undergone some physical changes over the past year. Not only did he grow up, but he grew out, too. It wasn’t surprising in the beginning, nor concerning. The Losers loved him no matter what. Ben, however, withdrew when the weight gain persisted. By the time December had rolled around Ben hardly came out of his house to play. He blamed it on the cold weather but everyone knew it went deeper than that and no one really knew how to help. One day, when the winter broke and the farm season began to roll around, Mike found himself pounding on Ben’s door and convincing him to help around the Hanlon farm. Mike would never say he forced Ben out of the house that day, Ben was always allowed to say no, but Mike sure had a way with his words.

In the few months since then Ben has lost a considerable amount of weight. He’s down past where he was before the compulsive eating began. He revealed to the Loser’s one night during a study session that he had been indulging his mother’s desire to feed him more and more, finding comfort in the food. He supposed it was because of what they went through together. Ben still goes to the Hanlon farm a few times a week to help Mike with the chores and work out. Mike takes him on runs and has shown him the proper ways to do heavy lifting, how Will Hanlon had shown him when he was much younger. Both Mike and Ben are planning on trying out for the high school football team at some point.

“Finally! It’s not a true Losers party until Trashmouth himself shows up!” Ben laughed as Richie leaned to lay himself in Bens lap.

“Too bad,” Stan drawls, “it was so nice and quiet, too.”

“Aw, Stanny! At least Haystack loves me, ain’t that right Benny Boy?” Richie was now entirely in Ben’s lap, laughing and smiling as if nothing in the world could bring him down. Nothing could, really. Everything was perfect. The sun was shining and he was surrounded by the six most perfect kids on the entire planet, his best friends. Everywhere he looked he could see one of their faces. Ben was staring down at him, his laugh matching Richie’s, Stan and Bill were in front of him, Eddie and Bev were to his right, Mike to his left. It was perfect. Nothing could possibly bring him down from this high.

They stayed like that for a little bit, each of them wrapping up their own worlds. Soon, though, they came together. Their wide range condensing into a semi-circle. Bill and Stan drew their feet out of the water and inched backwards. Richie found himself off of Ben’s lap and to his right. Eddie and Bev crawled over. Mike was never far off and simply sat down to Ben’s left. They fell into easy conversation. They talked about how all of their finals went. Richie had gotten straight A’s himself but played it off in favor of praising his friends’ accomplishments. They talked about their summers thus far. Mike and Ben had spent most of it together down on Mike’s farm. Ben had convinced his mother to feed him healthily, indulging in salads and fruits. Bill has been spending as much time with each of his friends as he could. He spends time with Stan after his weekly counseling appointments, he spends time with Richie in his father’s garage, he’s helped Eddie with mowing his lawn, he’s gone thrifting with Beverly, and he’s even worked out with Ben and Mike on occasion. In Bill’s mind, this is the perfect summer. The only thing better is right now, having them all together.

The fact of the matter was, the Losers could sit in the dirt and just talk to each other for hours. There was never a dull moment, what with Richie’s voices and Stan’s sharp comments. Eventually though, they moved to the water. It was Bill’s idea, if you could even call it that. He stood suddenly in the middle of one of Richie’s rants and stripped his shirt off.

“Yowzah, _Big Bill_ , didn’t realize we were getting a free show today!” Richie called out and followed suit, trying to pull his shirt up over his head.

“Beep-beep, Richie!” seemed to echo from all around him. He felt like he was floating. It was as if joy has replaced all of his blood and was now flowing through his veins. When he successful got his shirt off and looked around, Bill was already halfway to the water, jumping out of his pants. Richie followed suit. He would follow Bill to the ends of the Earth, he knew that. They all would.

Bill didn’t make it to the water on his own, though. Richie was on him like white on rice, the element of surprise on his side that day. Richie didn’t even bother taking his pants off, he was too wrapped up in the idea of getting his hands on Bill’s shoulders and pushing him into the deeper part of the Kenduskeag. The Kenduskeag was not a particularly deep river, but right ahead of them, where Bill was sitting earlier, was a small drop into about four feet of water. It was enough for Bill to fall into and not get hurt.

Bill surfaced to a chorus of laughter from his friends and Richie standing triumphantly over him.

“Might I say, my good fellow! You’ve taken qui-agh!” Richie never finished his thought because the next second he was toppling over to join Bill in the river. The water was like ice on his skin but it felt amazing. Richie had been all but toasting out in the sun since he got there.

“Puh-payback is a bitch, Richie!” Bill jested. This sparked a water fight between the two boys. They were quickly joined by the other Losers. One after another they all ran into the water, picking a side to be on. Richie had Bev and Eddie, Bill got Stan, Ben and Mike. Richie’s team was easily overpowered despite his protests that Bill was cheating by having more people. At one point Richie picked Eddie up by his waist, using him as a human shield. Eddie had shrieked at Richie to let him go, kicking out smacking the taller boy. Richie didn’t let up, only held Eddie closer to his chest and spun as quickly as the water would allow. Eddie fell into a fit of giggles that left him red in the face and breathless. Richie eventually let him go and watched Eddie swim off, noticing how the water was dancing off his shoulders and back. When Eddie reached the safety of Bev he turned and the two caught eyes. Richie isn’t sure why but he looked away so quick, as if he was a boy who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Only in this case the cookie jar was Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie wasn’t really doing anything wrong. So why did he feel strange?

If Eddie felt anything, too, he didn’t show it. He just stood up and turned to say something to Beverly. Richie couldn’t hear what, already swimming back towards Bill, Stan and Mike. Richie felt something else wash over him, then. It replaced the feeling of childish guilt and creeped up his spine. It wasn’t intense like it had been but it was there, an unmistakable unease.

Richie swam past the boys and hoisted himself up onto the ledge of the shore. Once settled, he let his legs swing into the water below him. He didn’t want to but he couldn’t help but think back to the house on Niebolt Street and his nightmare from last night. It had seemed so real. He swore he could hear Eddie’s voice screaming above him. He was sure he was actually choking on dust and fear. A lot of the minor details from that dream had faded but that house stood stark in his memory. He could _feel_ the werewolf’s hands on him, claws ripping through tender flesh. But even through his fear he could sense something about his werewolf in the dream. There was something bothering him about it, some detail he missed.

His thoughts were interrupted when Stan swam up to him, standing up just a couple heads below the Tozier boy. Stan placed his arms on Richie’s knees and rested his head in the crook of his elbow. Richie was never more thankful for an interruption.

“What’s up, Rich? Cat got your tongue?” Stan was cheeky, always had been. Richie smiled down at him. If he wanted he could make this into a sincere moment, however, Richie Tozier was not a sincere person.

“Oh, nothing, Staniel the Maniel. Just thinking about how I’m due for another round with Eddie’s mom tonight!” Yep, not sincere in the least.

Eddie, as always, took the bait. “Fuck off, Richie! My mom hates you just as much as I do!”

“Right, Eds! Just keep on telling yourself that,” Richie called back to him. He was all grins again, staring Eddie down as he made his was over to Richie.

“Don’t call me Eds, I hate it when you call me that,” he seethed at Richie. To anyone on the outside Eddie looked mad as hell. His face was red and he was huffing and puffing. Ask any of the Losers? Eddie was just playing along. There was the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth and his eyes sparkled at Richie.

“You know, deep, deep, deep down in that cavern you call a heart you like it!” Richie replied.

“Like it? God, Richie, Eds is the stupidest nickname ever. How would you like it if I called you Reds?” Eddie huffed at him, coming up right behind Stan who kept his perch.

Richie _howled_ with laughter. He threw himself backwards and onto the ground behind him, jostling Stan out of his lap. “Reds? _Reds?!_ Holy shit, Eddie, is that supposed to be my name layered over your nickname?” He spent the next few minutes rolling around on his back wheezing from laughter. When he turned over onto his back and wiped the tears out of his eyes, Eddie was positively fuming. All throughout Richie’s laughter he tried to defend his stance on the nickname, claiming it was just as stupid as ‘Eds’ but had no such luck.

By the time Richie had shown any signs of calming down all of the Losers had made their way out of the River and up onto the bank. Eddie kicked Richie once in the shoulder on his way past for good measure and stalked off into a denser patch of wood with Bev trailing behind him. Richie took this opportunity to go to his own pile of stuff. He toweled off what he could and grabbed his backpack, digging around for a moment before producing a moderate sized glass bottle. He got several strange looks from the others before Stan shot him with an, “Oh no, Trashmouth, we are not drinking vodka down here.”

“Oh, come on,” Richie said easily, “live a little Stanny.” He strolled towards the group again tossing the bottle from hand to hand.

Stan started to reply but was cut off by Beverly and Eddie coming back out of the bush. Eddie had changed into a fresh shirt and his infamous red shorts from last summer. He only ever wore them around the losers, now, because they were getting smaller and smaller on him. Richie’s eyes shot over to him and they locked eyes, again, that weird, warm feeling from earlier spreading across his face.

“What are we talking about not doing?” Bev asked, voice kind but curious. Richie glanced at her and smiled before chucking the bottle over to her with a rushed _think fast._ Bev, being Bev, caught the bottle easily and a slow, sinister grin creeped onto her face. “Oh yeah, now this is what I’m talking about!” She opened the bottle easily, flicking the cap off and taking an easy drink from it. Apparently, she made it look too easy because when Ben and Bill took drinks next, they both coughed pretty hard. Mike took it with more grace than Ben and Bill but less than Beverly. Richie was next, taking a practiced, easy sip. When it came back to Eddie, Richie coached him through it, telling him to not let the liquid sit on his tongue for too long or hit the back of his throat. By the time it made its way to Stan all of the group assured him he didn’t have to partake. Stan held the bottle in his hands for a moment, a deep concentrated look on his face and a hint of something else in his eyes. Eventually, locking his gaze with Richie’s, he brought the bottle to his lips and tipped it back.

Stan ended up drinking the least of all the Losers, but no one gets particularly wasted. They drank through the evening the way young teenagers do, with cautious enthusiasm. They knew they were safe with each other down there in the Barrens, hidden by the brush and soothed by the sounds of running water, but none of them wanted to face the wrath of an angry parent who caught their kid underage drinking.

When the sun began to set over the trees they petered off one by one. Mike was the first to leave, his trek back home being the longest. Bill was next, then Stan, then Ben. Eddie and Bev left together, but not without a snide comment from Richie.

“What, are you two boning now? Been spending an awful lot of time together. Don’t think I didn’t see you two sneak off earlier. Ah say, ah say! I think I see me two luh-vah birds!” His Voice was met with uncontrollable giggles from Bev and a “Fuck off, Tozier” through snickers from Eddie. No one had the energy to take anything seriously, not with the warm, slight haziness of alcohol running through their systems.

Richie followed the two of them home, not wanting to walk the streets alone. Eddie was dropped off first, his mother waiting on the front porch for him. She looked positively pinched that Eddie was being dropped off by that _dirty boy and girl._ Richie and Bev, on the other hand, couldn’t contain their laughter as they continued up the street.

Richie ended his evening with a wet, loud kiss to Beverly’s cheek before climbing in through his window. He stashed his backpack with the remaining liquor in his closet, telling himself he’ll remember to put it away in the morning. He can’t risk walking downstairs now and putting it away now with such a high risk of being caught by Went and Maggie. Instead, he climbed into bed and fell into a quick, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me how this chapter was the hardest for me to write but somehow ended up being the longest? I love group Losers Club interactions but I worry about getting the characterizations right and the dialoged and all the little stuff. I wanted to give everyone some time to shine and I tried but I don’t think it came out as well as I wanted it to. Either way, here is chapter four! 
> 
> Also, what is tense? What is it? Help me, honestly, I have no idea and I’m pretty sure I’ve been switching tenses this entire fic.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie’s hand in his is a pleasant weight in his. The skin is soft, moisturized, and warm. If Richie concentrates enough he can feel his pulse reach the palm of his hand for Eddie to receive and he feels the capture of Eddie’s responding heartbeat, sending it back up his veins into his own heart.

The sky was dark and the air was still. It felt like any noise would give Richie away. No matter how quiet he was being, there was always some air of danger about. The risk was high, but the reward, oh the reward was higher.

_Eyes watching him._

It was 11pm and Richie was currently dangling from a low hanging branch outside of the Kaspbrak residence. Sonia was inside somewhere, no doubt snoring like a machine gun, but Richie couldn’t be sure where. She could be up in her room but the chances of her being in the living room were equal. Sonia had gotten a rather expensive TV as a gift from one of her sisters on a count of her love for her game shows and soap operas. This TV happened to have the latest technology: a sleep timer. This meant that even though the window Richie was currently directly in front of was dark, the chances of Mrs. K. and him only being separated by a thin plane of glass were high.

_Hands, gripping his legs, ripping him down._

Richie was careful, though. He may have been a reckless person during any other time but if Mrs. K. caught him halfway through Eddie’s window it wouldn’t just be Richie’s ass that was grass. It would also be Eddie’s.

_A voice that turns from sickly sweet to a dark, dark growl._

Eddie did not know Richie was three quarters of the way up the side of his house. He did not see as Richie placed his foot on the shutters by his living room window. He did not watch in terror as Richie tried to use a branch for purchase, only to have it snap on him and send him two heart stopping feet closer to the ground. He did not wince when Richie’s body slammed against the side of his house. The only thing Eddie Kaspbrak did know was that, seemingly out of nowhere, at 11:07pm, Richie was sitting on the large oak branch directly outside of his window, tapping gently and smiling.

_Sharp, sharp, sharp._

“Richie, what the fuck,” Eddie hissed as he opened his window. He pushed half of his body out and leveled Richie with what might have been intended as a threatening glare but actually came off as something fond.

“Oh, hey Eds. What are you doing hanging out of your window at this time of night?” Richie hummed as he learned forward. He placed two hands on the windowsill on either side of Eddie.

“Me? You! You’re gonna kill yourself out here, Richie,” Eddie hissed back, leaning back to beckon Richie inside. He quickly went to lock his door and stuff a towel under the gap while Richie snuck inside.

“So, Eds, this is where you’ve been hiding all summer?” Richie dropped his bag and walked over to Eddie’s desk, brushing his hand over some of the papers that lay across it. Nothing interesting, some homework from the year, two comic books, a magazine in the corner.

“Don’t call me that. And I haven’t been hiding, Richie. Do you really think I want to be stuck in here all summer?”

“Yeah, what’s up with that anyway?”

Eddie all but throws himself back on the bed, groaning quietly. Richie takes that as his cue to sit down on the edge.

“You don’t say, Edward?” This earns him a sharp glare. Eddie hated every single nickname Richie gave him, but Edward? Come on.

“Eddie. Richie, my name is fucking Eddie.” He cuts back, voice razor sharp. Richie decides to prod further and physically, jamming his finger into Eddie ribs. The smaller boy squealed and curled into his side, bringing his legs up and baring them down on Richie’s arm. It gets pretty physical after that. Richie had the upper hand. Eddie was already on his back and vulnerable. All Richie had to do was climb on top of him and pin him down. What Richie never accounts for is that Eddie strong and wily. When Eddie gets his feet up under Richie chest he completely launches Richie off the bed. He is airborne for a solid two seconds before coming down on Eddie floor, _hard_.

When Richie makes contact the entire house goes silent. The silent giggles and heavy breathing stops. The air completely stills. They sit there for thirty whole seconds, listening. At any sign Sonia is awake Eddie knows he’s going to have to hide Richie, quiet and quick. He spends that thirty seconds scanning the room, devising a plan in his head to get Richie into the closet without making a sound. Fortunately for them, it never comes down to it.

“Fuck, that was close.” Eddie says on the release of the breath he was holding. Richie doesn’t speak, not yet. He just nods and climbs back onto the bed. “She’s been such a fucking psycho lately. I can count the amount of time’s I’ve left my property this summer on two hands.”

Richie just sits at the edge of the bed. He’d only seen Eddie twice so far. Once at Bill’s and once last week at the Barrens.

“Jesus fuck, Eddie. What’s gone and crawled up her ass?”

“I don’t know. She just went off on me when I told her I wanted to go to the Barrens to see you guys. Fucking brought up all that shit that happened last year. How I came home covered in sewage and how you guys apparently broke my arm.”

“Fuck that. She has no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I can tell her what really happened. She’ll have me shipped up to Juniper faster than I can say demonic shapeshifting clown.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Richie speaks up. “So, that’s what this is about, huh?” Eddie just hums in response. The air has gone tense in the room. “Yowza, Eds.”

They continue to sit in silence for a while, neither one of them breaking it. Eddie’s still on his back from when they were wrestling only a few moments ago. Richie feels an itch in his chest to bring back that carefree atmosphere they had created before he so gracelessly hit the floor. It was like his body crashing down brought everything down with him, brought Eddie down with him.

They could run away from all of this if they wanted to. Riche could open up the window and take Eddie’s hand, leading him down the side of his house to freedom. They would run up the street and out of Derry. They could be free from Eddie’s mother and the nightmares and the sewers and IT. They could spend the rest of eternity together if they wanted to. It might not be so bad. Richie almost says this, almost reaches for Eddie’s hand but stops himself. He plays the twitch in his arm off by bringing his hand up to brush curls out of his eyes.

It’s so quiet in the room. The famous Richie Trashmouth Tozier has not broken the silence and doesn’t think he’s going to. It’s almost out of character, but with Eddie he doesn’t feel like he constantly needs to entertain. The silence is tense, yes, but it’s almost comfortable. It’s the kind of tension you learn to sit with. You simmer in it and let it seep into your bones. If you cannot sit with tension what can you do? Snap at every moving tree and every wrong flick of the wrist? If Richie did that, man, he’d be a dead boy by now.

_Hard wind, deep night skies, trees scraping against his window that sound eerily like claws._

“She thinks you guys are a bad influence on me.” Eddie whispers. “She said I hardly take my medicine anymore and I talk back more than ever –“

“Your medicine is bullshit.” Richie’s voice is hard, much harder than he meant. Fuck Sonia.

“Yeah, I know Richie. And she knows I know, too. But she still tries to use it against me. She’s trying to keep me from you guys. But what she doesn’t know is that I would be dead without you guys. She wouldn’t even have a little Eddie-bear to smother. I’d be gone.” He hardly even speaks the last sentence. Richie thinks back to the leper and reaches for Eddie’s hand again. This time he doesn’t change course, he doesn’t twitch up to his curls. He grabs the top of Eddies hand and squeezes. Eddie flips his palm over instinctually and their fingers intertwine.

Richie would never let the leper get Eddie. Never. Richie would never let anything get to Eddie. He would give his life, he knows it. Every time he hears Eddie’s cry in his dreams Richie’s there. He runs as fast as he can, even when he knows it’s a dream. It isn’t always in Neibolt. Sometimes they’re at the Barrens or in the library or even in the halls of their high school. Eddie isn’t even always there, but that fucking werewolf is. Richie sees him, a constant force. He lurks around corners. He stands in doorways. He never attacks Richie. Richie figured this out a couple nights ago when, in a pseudo-haze of bravery, he stood his ground against the werewolf. Neither of them moved until the floor disintegrated beneath them, waking Richie up.

At the moment their hands lace together Richie becomes hyper aware of his body. He feels the way the skin of his legs touches the so soft sheets on Eddies bed. He becomes aware of the blood pumping through his feet where they’re currently dangling. His breathing switches from automatic to manual and he notes how big each breathe is and how much noise he makes on the exhale. He feels his heart pumping through his chest.

Eddie’s hand in his is a pleasant weight in his. The skin is soft, moisturized, and warm. If Richie concentrates enough he can feel his pulse reach the palm of his hand for Eddie to receive and he feels the capture of Eddie’s responding heartbeat, sending it back up his veins into his own heart.

“We don’t need no worry about that _here_ , Senior!” Richie crooned in his Pancho Vanilla voice, yanking Eddie’s hand close to his heart and throwing himself back onto the bed. Eddie brought his other hand up to muffle his laughter. “Hey, Eddie,” he continued with a normal voice, “I have something in my bag that might lift these spirits up!”

Richie let go of Eddie’s hand and hopped off the bed, strolling to the window where he left his backpack. He pulls out the bottle of vodka he had at the Barrens and smiles over at Eddie. Before he can even speak to offer Eddie or move to take the cap off Eddie is on top of him, ripping the bottle out of his hands.

“Are you fucking insane?! What the hell are you thinking bringing this here?!” he whisper-screeches.

“Whoa, Eds, calm down,” Richie tries to start, but Eddie isn’t done.

“You are so fucking irresponsible I can’t believe it! You’re fucking insane. I’m not drinking this with you put it away.”

“Eddie, hey,” Richie tries again, reaching towards Eddie and placing a hand on his forearm, “it’s not that serious. I promise. I just thought maybe we could hit a little night cap. I’m sorry.” Richie slowly takes the bottle from Eddie’s hands and puts it back into his bag. “I didn’t want to put it away with my parents’ home and I keep forgetting when they’re at work.”

Eddie is still looking at him, face flushed and eyes a mixture of anger and bewilderment. Richie hadn’t meant much by the alcohol. He just wanted Eddie to smile, to laugh a little bit. He remembered the Barrens when they were all a merry group. But this wasn’t the Barrens and now he was one for one, a win with his voice but a lose with the liquor.

Eddie quickly relaxed with the alcohol out of sight. “It’s just that my mom is home and I know she’ll smell it out or something, like a fucking hound. And if she catches me with you and that in here…” he trails off. Richie gets it, he does. He simply grabs Eddie’s arm again and leads him back to the end. He lays down how he was earlier and pats the bed, beckoning Eddie to do the same. He does and soon they’re lying side by side again.

“I’ll never make you do something you’re not comfortable with, Eds.” Riche says softly, turning his head to face Eddie. Eddie’s gaze meets his and all the fire from a minute ago is gone. This is a theme, Richie notices. Eddie is quick to light, quick to burn, and quick to fizzle. Eddie has always been like this. He’s a spitfire, a little zap of energy, but something has shifted inside of him. Eddie has never been so aggressive so quick before and this is only one of countless incidents in the past year.

Richie hums a tune neither of them can really place but both enjoy. He turns back to the window and feels the bed dip and shift. Eddie, no doubt, is moving into a more comfortable position while Richie stays settled on his back.

It takes a few minutes for him to speak up again, but eventually Richie hears himself whisper, “You know, I’ve been having these strange dreams lately.” He waits a couple heartbeats for a response. Nothing comes. When he turns his head he sees Eddie, fast asleep on his side.

Richie just smiles to himself, writing this conversation off for another time. It’s not important, not really. This is something he can easily deal with on his own. Honestly, he wanted to check in with Eddie, make sure he’s okay.

Richie stares for what might be considered too long, but no one knows it. No one is awake to see him or catch him or accuse him of anything, so he enjoys it. He finds himself enjoying Eddie, the way his chestnut hair is falling over his face at this angle and the way his mouth sits slightly open in sleep. Eddie has curled in on his side and tucked his hands between his bent knees. He is, Richie considers, something close to adorable.

He doesn’t know what time it is when he leaves, but he pulls a throw from Eddie’s closet out and places it over the sleeping boy. He leaves the way he came, this time far, far more gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The support I've been getting for this has been amazing guys. Thank you so so much. I'm having a blast writing this and reading everyone's comments. We're just past the halfway mark! <3
> 
> Come talk to me at reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They continue to laugh softly with each other after that. The good mood carries through the air, lacing its way into Richie’s nerves and making him feel like he could walk on air. Bev has that effect on the boys and Richie swears they’re all a little bit in love with her. Richie is, too.

Richie has a number of favorite spots around Derry. Some of them include the Barrens, the inside of Eddie Kaspbrak’s window, Bill’s garage, his own bedroom, and underneath the bleachers at the Derry High School, a space in which Richie is currently occupying. This space is ideal for almost all times of year. During school he can sneak out where when a gym period isn’t going on and during the summer he can sneak out here because literally no one is on the school’s campus. This is one of his favorite spots to skip out to and have a few cigarettes. He doesn’t have to worry about adults telling him what to do or anyone passing a judgmental eye. Sometimes he comes here alone but the majority of the time he frequents the bleachers with one special little lady. Today is one of those times.

Beverly Marsh sits directly opposite of him, a lazy grin on her face and a cigarette hanging loosely between her lips. They’ve been out here for roughly fifteen minutes already and have done nothing but relentlessly tease each other the entire time.

At some point Richie produced the bottle of his dad’s vodka and Bev cracked a wicked grin. The two passed it back and forth twice before setting it off to the side to continue their shenanigans.

“Ah say, Ah say! Miss Scarlet you are one _divine_ creature from heaven!” Richie wails at her, falling over himself and reaching out towards her. She tries to fight off her giggles but can’t and slaps his hands away from her legs.

“Richie you absolute buffoon, don’t you touch me!” she shrieks back at him though her laughter. At one point they’re both laughing so hard that neither of them can even speak. Richie and Bev together makes one dynamite duo and if the others were here they’re certain they would be feeding off of their reactions, keeping the show rolling for as long as possible. This specific show, however, is only for the two of them.

They continue to laugh softly with each other after that. The good mood carries through the air, lacing its way into Richie’s nerves and making him feel like he could walk on air. Bev has that effect on the boys and Richie swears they’re all a little bit in love with her. Richie is, too, but not the way they tell it in the movies and books. Richie doesn’t love her for her body or her face. He could care less about what’s under her shirt. He doesn’t want to lay her down and kiss her sweet. She’s _Beverly Marsh_. This girl can take a hit like one of the boys, she can walk the walk, talk the talk, and fight the fight. Bev knows how to get down and dirty and has a tongue that could rival any one of them. Her wit is sharp, her tone is pointed, and she doesn’t take shit from anyone. She does all of this without ever sacrificing what it means to be a girl and Richie respects her all the more for it. She showed up in their lives for a reason last year and Richie is never going to let her go. He’s found another part of himself in her.

He thinks this while he stares at her, lazily passing the stick back and forth to puff on. The thoughts don’t startle him. These are things he’s known for a long time. When they met he thought maybe he would want to lay her down when he was older but he’s seen girls all year he wanted to kiss silly. Bev was never one of them. He still loves her, though. Oh, yes, he does.

Richie is so trapped in his thoughts he doesn’t even realize Bev is trying to hold a conversation with him until he sees her lips moving.

“– and I know I’m not the best or anything but I think I’m getting close to halfway decent?” she says, voice light in the air around them.

 Oh fuck, he wasn’t listening to a word she said.

“Well, Bev, my dear, my love, the scarlet sunrise in my life,” he starts, biding his time, “I do think you’ll have to show me one day.” Oh, fuck yeah. Smooth, Tozier.

“I don’t know,” she comes back, not missing a beat. Her smile is soft on her face, not like the loud and bright one from before. “I don’t think Eddie would be comfortable modeling so you would just see them on my bed, ‘cause I’m not modeling, either.”

Wait, what?

“Oh, yeah. Right. No problem there, Bev,” Richie coughs out. She levels him with a look. The jig is up.

“You have no fucking idea what I’m talking about, do you?” she deadpans.

“I didn’t, but I’m guessing it has something to do with using Eddie as your personal barbie doll.”

She leans across the ground and smacks him hard in the shoulder before taking the cigarette from between his lips, taking a long hard drag, and snubbing it out.

“Hey!” he cries at her, “What was that for?”

“You know damn well, Tozier.” she says. She’s got fire in her eyes now. That’s Bev for you.

“Oh, come on Bev, I’m sorry! I just got so caught up in how beautiful you are! Please forgive me!” he says through a thinly veiled voice. She doesn’t budge. “Beverly Marsh! Miss Scarlet! Puh-lease!” he’s wailing now, crawling toward her an all fours. He can see her resolve crumbling. “Tell me, tell me please. I wanna hear all about how you dress Eddie up and then take him down.” He waggles his eyebrows at her and she falls apart, giggling and slapping his hands away from her again.

“God, Richie, you are insufferable,” she manages. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But I won’t repeat myself for a third time. you’re lucky I haven’t just gotten up and left.” She says, finality in her tone. She reaches down to the pack beside them and lit a second cigarette. They preferred to share when they were smoking together. They could talk for hours and smoking had become a constant. If they didn’t share they would chain smoke and then be strapped for cash and down with a stomach ache.

After taking a drag, she proceeded to retell Richie about her latest project. Bev would take her allowance to the local thrift shop, buy some clothing (and depending on what it was, later cut it apart and repurpose the fabric), and attempt to alter it to make something akin to fashion. In the beginning, she wasn’t very good. After she enlisted Eddie’s help and started using him as a bounce board for ideas, the two of them playing off of each other, she has gotten much better. She would also use Eddie as a model for a lot of her work. Despite him being shorter than her, they were roughly the same size and it was perfect for her to alter clothing and see how it looked on a person rather than laid out on a bed.

Richie listened this time, the whole way through. He didn’t laugh, not when she was being so genuine. He could see it in her eyes, a new kind of fire lighting up and he thinks to himself _she loves this._

When she finishes up he looks at her with devilish eyes and simply says, “So, dah-ling. When _are_ you going to include me in your line of absolutely _delicious_ models?”

“Yeah, because you’re model material, Richie. You’re all arms and legs and skin and bones! You’d never make a decent model,” she fires back.

“Oh, how wrong you are!” he declared, “but alas, who could ever compete with that plate of spaghetti? Too fucking cute, I’ll tell you what.”

Bev stops for a second and shoots him a curious look. There’s a hesitation in their rapport. She’s clearly been caught off guard, but by what Richie can’t figure out. He’s called Eddie cute a million times so this isn’t anything new.

Her look throws him off kilter so by the time she gets ready to speak again Richie is already nervous and he cannot, for the life of him, place why.

“Richie,” Bev’s words are slow and careful when she speaks, “when you call Eddie cute, what exactly do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, what?” he replies, “I mean, he’s cute – what do you mean?”

“Nothing!” she practically shouts back. She notices her volume and adjusts to a quieter tone, “Nothing. It’s just… you know there’s nothing wrong with it, right?”

This is it. Bev has gone absolutely looney. The fuck does she mean by that? He has no idea what she’s talking about and doesn’t hesitate to tell her so.

She sighs, her careful tone returning, “Nothing, Richie. I just think… you know. You and Eddie are good together, good for each other.”

“Yeah, I sure hope we are. He’s one of my best fucking friends, Bev.” He takes a deep drag from their cigarette which he doesn’t even remember getting back from Bev and avoids eye contact. He’s getting defensive. Why is he getting defensive? Why is his heart racing and his skin flushing and why the fuck is it so hot under these bleachers?

“Richie, I didn’t mean anything bad by it, I swear,” she says. She’s cool as a cucumber and reaches around to grab the bottle and roll it toward him. “I meant what I said, though. You and Eddie. You’re good for each other,” she pauses, “and I love you.”

He scoops the bottle off the ground and passes the stick back to her with shaking hands. He takes a swig before passing that back to her, too. He’s dimly aware that she doesn’t take another sip and he’s drank more than her. She tucks it away in her bag before passing the cigarette back to him.

They both sit in silence for a moment. It is not uncomfortable, but it is not comfortable either. Richie supposes that if he really tried to relax it could be comfortable. Bev is sitting on a few feet from him and she looks entirely unbothered. He should be unbothered, too. Why isn’t he unbothered?

“Yeah, I love you, too Bev,” he says. He fully intended to speak using what would later become his Buford Kissdrivel voice but it died in his throat before ever breathing the air. Bev shoots him a lazy smile and falls back into the conversation about her clothing designs. She insists that Richie comes over later in the week to see some of her designs. She wants to show him the corkboard that she pins magazine clippings to and the outfits she’s already attempted. She promises that when they’re older and she’s good at it she’ll make him clothing, too.

Things fall back into normal. Richie feels the bottom of his stomach slowly warm up. That warmth leaks through his veins and down his arms and legs, up his torso and into his neck. It crawls across his face, into his head, dizzies him up. The tension melts out of him and into an overwhelming calm that by the time they wrap up he can’t even remember what had him so worked up before.

Bev offers to walk him home, insisting it isn’t trouble to her and that her aunt is out late tonight. Richie insists back, no woman walks a man to his own door. They part ways on Bev’s lawn, hugging tightly and laughing stupidly from Richie all but tripping into their hug, and Richie continues on through town to his own home.

He takes his sweet time walking down Main Street towards the major intersection. Everything is light and airy and the world feels like its spinning around him. He feels a pleasant buzz in his head, strolling idly past strangers on the sidewalk.

It isn’t until he looks up that something shifts. The pleasant dizziness has become an overwhelming haze and confusion rips the calm from his veins to replace it with pure, unadulterated anxiousness. Why? Well, it seems that lately Richie’s own emotions were unknown to him. They just flited in and out of his body at their own whim. They neither explained nor justified their presence in him. They came, rocked him to his core, and were gone in the next second.

There were people all around him. They were walking to their destination and seemed to be doing so quickly, but maybe Richie was just slow? Maybe Richie was sinking into the molasses sidewalk to be captured and swallowed by the demons that lay sleeping just below the surface. As if by chance – it was perfectly timed, almost too perfect – a storm drain caught his eye.

Panic crept in. Richie twisted his head to the left and right but couldn’t get his bearings. Were people staring at him? He couldn’t even tell, their faces all blurred together like the strangers from his dreams. Fuck, maybe this was a dream. And if it was that meant the wolf could be lurking around any corner. No, this couldn’t be a dream. But the werewolf could still be here. It could be right there in that storm drain waiting to rip his throat out.

He had to get out of here. He broke into a run the way he was starting to break out into a cold sweat – without warning. His legs, unsteady under him, began making quick contact with the spinning Earth. This was it wasn’t it? This was the end.

He moved through the people, not graceful, not slick. He wasn’t thinking about graceful or slick or what people thought of him. He was only thinking about _fear, fear, fear, help me, got to get out of here, got to run_ when he collided with a strong, firm body. He felt hands on his body and almost screamed until he focused his vision and saw a black tie with rubber ducks on it. He knows this tie. He saw this tie walk out of his front door this morning.

“Whoa there, Richie!” Wentworth Tozier boomed from above him, “What’s got you so worked up?” Went’s hands were strong on Richie’s upper arms, functionally anchoring him back down to Earth.

“N-nothing dad,” Richie tried in his greatest voice of all: his everything-is-okay voice.

He looked up to find Went staring back down at him, concern dancing lightly in his eyes and a small smile paired with it on his mouth.

“You sure?” Richie nodded. “Alright, well how about a ride back home? I think mom’s got dinner on the stove and I’m not waiting for your lanky butt to walk all the way back.” Went said, his smile laced in his voice.

Richie smiled back and nodded. Having his father here was like a protective blanket. Went was bigger than Richie and taller, too. He wasn’t like Bill’s parents or Eddie’s mom. Richie knew that even though his father looked at him like he had six heads and was sent down from Mars, he loved him and would protect him if push came to shove. Richie felt the tension, again, ease out of his shoulders and dissolve from his neck. Anything he was feeling before felt like nothing more than a fading memory. He couldn’t remember what that fear felt like. He doesn’t even know why he was so scared in the first place.  

It isn’t until later that night that he remembers. Maggie made spaghetti and meatballs. Richie pretended his meatballs were Doogie Howser and Seinfeld. His parents looked amused but perpetually confused. The buzz of the alcohol leaked out of his system and he saw – and felt – the world clearly again. It isn’t until roughly 3am when it all comes back to him, the fear and unease and absolute dread. He wakes up, sweat soaking his skin and causing his sheets to wrap around his arms and legs –

_Holding him down, pinning him down_

– and he remembers what he saw. He saw the werewolf but that wasn’t new. It was what was _on_ the werewolf that has him so fucking shaken. It wore a letterman jacket like it always does, like he saw it in, but this wasn’t the same. On the jacket, stitched into the upper right corner was the name _Eddie Kaspbrak._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me at reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re both spinning in and out of each other’s arms so much they don’t notice the gap closing between them. Eddie spins Richie out and pulls him back in. Richie seamlessly wraps his arms around Eddie’s middle and picks him up, still twirling. When Richie sets Eddie back down, Eddies hands are placed firms on Richie’s chest and Richie’s arms are wound tightly around Eddie. They stop briefly, laughing hard and loud with each other. When Eddie looks up at Richie he is all flushed faced and bright eyed.

_You know what? Honestly, fuck this. Fuck every single thing that’s happening. I can’t sleep. I’m not hungry anymore. I can’t even think straight. I can’t concentrate. I can’t even be around my fucking friends without losing my shit anymore. Fucking fuck fuck. Jesus fucking shit!_ is what Richie thinks to himself alone down in the Barrens. He has no good reason to be down here. He has no good reason to do any of the things he is doing right now, or has been doing for that matter. What Richie should be doing is sleeping in his bed, safely at home in his room.

Safely, ha. That’s hilarious. Lately Richie’s bed has felt anything other than safe. Nothing feels safe anymore. Nothing has felt safe in a fucking year, not since that _thing_ started killing children Not since his idiot self put all of his faith in six other kids. Not until he foolishly went into Neibolt twice and then down into the sewers.

Nothing is ever going to be safe again.

Richie is currently pacing down by the Kenduskeag. He was in the same spot that him and the others occupied not long ago, where he first brought down his father’s vodka. That very same bottle now sat by the drop off into the Kenduskeag considerably emptier than it was that day.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Richie hasn’t noticed, nor does he care, about the lack of liquid in the glass bottle. He’s exhausted but there is no way in hell he’s going back to sleep tonight. Not after what he saw in that fucking nightmare.

_Sharp, sharp teeth. Drool dripping onto him as he lay still on his back._

Fuck this shit. This is not fucking okay. Nothing is okay. It never fucking was and it never fucking will be and nothing fucking matters anymore.

Richie stalks over to the bank, picks up the bottle, and takes a small pull from it. He has no idea what time it is or how long he has been down here. He left his house as soon as he woke up, scooping up his backpack and calmly walking out of his front door. The clock may have said 12:57 in bright red numbers. Maybe it said 2:57. Who fucking knows.

All Richie knows right now is that he is frustrated, terrified, and tired. He’s tired of these dreams, he’s tired of not understanding what’s going on, he’s fucking tired of this stupid fucking clown following him everywhere he is.

And what the fuck was up with that letterman jacket?

_Eddie Kaspbrak’s name was embroidered in the upper right corner in white stitching. The jacket itself was originally blue, but the entire thing was covered in deep red blood splatters._

What the fuck did it mean? Did it mean anything at all? Was IT trying to tell him something through his dreams? Was this some kind of foreshadowing? Was IT going to take the form of his Eds and use it to kill Richie in cold blood?

_“Wanna play lougie?”_

Fuck this.

The bottle was had about one quarter left in it. It wasn’t that Richie had drunk a lot tonight, it was more than Richie had been steadily, and sneakily, drinking from it almost once a day since he had gotten it.

He was starting to feel it, though. He could feel that pleasant dizziness begin to take hold of him. This is what he wanted. Something about it made him feel airy, light almost. The world would spin in this not-so-overwhelming way and maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t be able to see the figures dancing just beyond the shadows.

Slowly but surely the tension bleeds away. Richie tries to distraction himself with other thoughts. He thinks of Beverly the day before and how red her hair was. How they smoked and laughed and laughed and smoked. He thinks of the time he spent with Stan this week. The two boys had holed themselves up in Stan’s room listening to music on the stereo and shooting the shit. Richie had come close to spilling everything to Stan. Stan was his right hand and if anyone would understand what Richie was going through it was him. Stan was strong, so fucking strong. He battled demons the other Losers never saw and he still managed to come back at Richie with that dry, biting sense of humor and support all of his friends endlessly. Stan was one of a kind, a true loyal guy. Richie would give his life to make sure Stan was alive and okay. That’s why he couldn’t put this on Stan’s shoulders. He couldn’t put this on anyone’s.

Richie hums to himself. He doesn’t feel better but he’s not feeling as much as before. Everything was too much, too overwhelming. He thought that if he stayed like that he would go absolutely mad. Now, though. Now was better. Now with every step, step, turn he could feel the tension bleeding up and out of his body.

He doesn’t even realize he’s smiling. His turns from pacing back and forth get slower, more carefree. They turn into full out twirls, arms coming out from his sides and head thrown backwards. Before he knows it, he’s dancing alone to the sounds of rushing water in the cover of trees and brush. He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t hear the snapping of twigs or the rushing of branches. He doesn’t notice anything until a figure emerges from the path they all use to get down here.

“Richie?”

Eddie’s voice is so soft and sudden Richie thinks it’s another one of his hallucinations.

“Eddie, my love,” he hums out. His eyes are closed as he continues to sway and twirl and move around the embankment.

“Richie? What are you doing here? And what are you doing?”

This time, Richie stopped his movements and opened his eyes. Somehow Eddie was actually there, standing a couple feet away from him against the tree line.

“Eds? Holy shit, how are you?” He says, a little too loud. He’s quick to move towards Eddie. Now, he’s all grins and grabby hands.

Eddie chuckles and pushes Richie away lightheartedly before retorting, “I’m fine Rich. Mind explaining to me what’s going on?”

“Oh nothing,” he hums, reaching out again, “just needed to get out of the house a little bit. Nothing like some middle of the night dancing to tired a man out!” He’s got Eddie in his arms now and is leading him back to where Richie was previously. Eddie goes willingly. His hands are on Richie’s biceps and he has a soft smile on his face. Richie thinks he might be able to look at that smile all day. “What are you doing down here, Eddie?”

Eddie looks at him questioningly before answering. “Sometimes I feel like the only way I can escape my house is at night. I come down here listen to the water. It’s nice.”

Richie nods and smiles a goofy smile back at him. He pushes Eddie out but keeps a firm hold of his left hand. Eddie stumbles, a small _whoa_ falling from his lips. When Eddie’s arm goes taut in Richie’s hand he pulls and Eddie comes spinning towards him. Richie catches him gracefully in his arms. Instinctively, Eddie’s hands come up to rest near his collarbone in an attempt to steady himself.

By the time Eddie is back in Richie’s arms he’s giggling like mad. So is Richie. The sounds of their laughter fills the Barrens and nearly drowns out the babble of the Kenduskeag.

“Dance with me, Eds.”

Richie doesn’t want for Eddie to reply. He starts swaying back and forth. His movements are unsteady and his rhythm is off. Neither of them cares, though. They don’t care when Richie spins Eddie out again and Eddie, much more expectant, spins with ease out and back in. They don’t care when Richie steps on Eddie’s foot and Eddie wobbles, nearly falling. They don’t care when Richie continuously stumbles though each move.

They dance like this for a bit. Richie brings Eddie under his arms in a spin, Eddie moves back and forth with ease. Richie dips him a total of 2 times, the first of which almost resulted in Eddie hitting the ground.

They’re both spinning in and out of each other’s arms so much they don’t notice the gap closing between them. Eddie spins Richie out and pulls him back in. Richie seamlessly wraps his arms around Eddie’s middle and picks him up, still twirling. When Richie sets Eddie back down, Eddies hands are placed firms on Richie’s chest and Richie’s arms are wound tightly around Eddie. They stop briefly, laughing hard and loud with each other. When Eddie looks up at Richie he is all flushed faced and bright eyed.

When their laughter fades, their smiles do not. Eddie’s hands shift on Richie’s chest until they’re loosely resting around his neck. He has this look in his eyes, a twinkle Richie has never really noticed before. He sees Eddie’s eyes dart across his face and his tongue reach out and sweep over his lips lightly. It’s hardly there, only a swipe of pink. They’re so close, now, faces only inches apart. If either one of them moves an inch or two in there would be no space left to share.

It’s nice, Richie thinks. It’s fun. Two best friends dancing with each other under the moonlight to the Kenduskeag. This is what friendship is. This is what two bros do when they really care about each other.

It is nice until it’s not. Somewhere along the way Eddie’s eyes dart behind him towards the bank of the Kenduskeag and his entire face changes. The sparkle that was in his eyes dulls and is replaced by furrowed eyebrows and pinched lips. Richie didn’t understand. They were having so much fun and now Eddie looked, well he looked confused but he also looked mad.

Eddie’s hands come away from Richie’s neck and he pushed back a little. Richie feels himself automatically loosen his hold and Eddie steps away from him, his chest and front becoming a cold and empty space. Richie doesn’t register anything out of the ordinary when he finds that he wants Eddie back in his arms. It felt right. Eddie belonged there.

“Rich, what’s that?” Eddie’s voice is a cool, even tone. This, Richie does register. He’s heard this tone before. This is Eddie’s everything’s-fine-but-I’m-actually-pissed tone.

Richie turns to where Eddie is looking and sees the vodka bottle shimmering in the moonlight. “Oh? That? Eds, it’s nothing. Just a little nightcap!” Richie tries, tone a bright and forced in attempt to lighten the mood.

“Richie, seriously. What the fuck?” Eddie’s voice is even more clipped, edging on the brink of anger. Richie doesn’t want that. Richie wants happy, laughing Eddie dancing with him. Richie wants Eddie wrapped up in his arms again. Richie wants his soft, gentle hands cupping the back of his neck. Richie wants.

“Oy, Eds! Its –” Richie starts, Eddie cutting in sharply.

“Don’t fucking ‘Eds’ me right now.”

“– nothing, I promise. Can’t a guy have a drink every now and then?”

Richie moves for him, grabbing Eddie’s waist lightly, showing him he can move away if he wants to.

Eddie takes the bait and does, stepping back a second time and scrubbing his hands over his face. “At three in the fucking morning, alone, in the middle of the woods?”

“Eddie, _baby_ , calm down and dance with me,” Richie tries again, moving forward but stopping short.

“No, I’m not letting this go.” Eddie crossed him arms, a hard look of determination settling on his face.

“You’re over reacting. It’s not a big deal.”

“Over reacting?!” Eddie screeched back, “Richie, you’re drunk.”

“Yeah, okay, so I had a few drinks, so what? Just get off my case.”

“So what? So what?! Richie this is not the first time you’ve done this. You keep showing up with this fucking bottle of vodka and now I find you down here drinking alone? What the fuck is your problem?” Richie could feel anger crawling under his skin when he heard Eddie whisper, “Is this because those nightmares you asked Bill about?”

Fucking Bill.

“You don’t know how it feels, Eddie!” Now Richie doesn’t have the next track record of saying the right thing, but this was definitely not the right thing to say because Eddie is practically screeching at him.

“I don’t know how it feels?! Richie, are you absolutely shitting me right now?!” He’s screaming, “You know I – I see that, that, that fucking _leper_ every single night, Richie. He’s always there, reaching for me, grabbing at me, _touching_ me.”

“Ed’s-”

“No, Richie! You don’t get to shut me out and then tell me that I don’t know what it’s like. You don’t get to show up drunk and make me worry my fucking brains out and then keep acting like everything is one big joke! God, I can’t believe you! Actually, wait. Yes, I can. I fucking can. And that makes me the fucking idiot.”

Eddie is all burning rage now and Richie is the one who set the fire. Eddie is pacing wilding back and forth in front of him. His face, up to his ears and down to his neck, is a blistering red. His hands keep coming up to rub at his face, his neck, his hair. He’s looking anywhere he possibly can except for Richie and Richie is dying for Eddie to look at him. Maybe if Eddie looked at him, really looked, then he’d understand.

“Eds, just wait a second-”

“You _do not_ get to call me Eds right now.” Eddie seethed, “God, how could you be so fucking selfish, Richie. All year I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me. I’ve been trying to get you to listen to me. You never did. You were never there for me. My own fucking mother has been holding me captive for months and you didn’t even know until three fucking days ago! God, at least I had Bev. Every time I needed someone she was there, unlike you. And to think I thought I was in love with you, you fucking asshole!”

It was like everything stopped. The world stood still for a second, then lurched forward. Eddie and Richie just stood there, eyes locked and the silence deafening. Richie for once in his life was left completely speechless.

Love? What the fuck does he mean love? Richie could feel himself short circuiting. _Eddie was in love with me?_ Beverly’s words rang out in his ears again. How does he really feel about Eddie? Either way, she still loves him. Beverly still loves him. She still loved Eddie. Eddie loves Richie.

Eddie loves Richie.

In the time it took Richie to process what Eddie said and really, really understand It Eddie was walking away. He had turned on his heel and was currently stomping back towards Kansas street at a speed drunk Richie couldn’t hope to keep up with. Richie watched him go for a second, still dumbfounded at his sudden confession.

“Fuck, Eddie – wait! Just listen to me,” Richie stumbled over his words similarly to how he was stumbling after Eddie. Eddie was quick, though, and by the time Richie tripped over a few sticks and made it to the tree line Eddie was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! This is definitely not my favorite but hey! Here we are! I love my two stupid gay sons. 
> 
> Come talk to me at reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of Richie’s walls are falling down around him. Every defense he’s ever made has weakened in this single conversation. Everything leading up to right now – the Barrens, the nightmares, the fight – has chipped away at Richie. He has no more Voices to hide behind. There are no more sideways smiles, no more jokes, no more shenanigans.

There really are no words to capture the exact way one Richie Tozier is feeling other than by categorizing it as complete fucking shit. He is currently laying on the couch in his empty house. His parents were gone by the time he mustered enough strength to come downstairs and have a bowl of cereal. His stomach is in knots, his head is pounding, and his arms and legs are covered in small scrapes and scratches from attempting to chase after Eddie through the brush in the dark. It was for nothing, though. He never caught up to Eddie.

He’s lying on his back, facing the ceiling with his eyes closed hoping the darkness will ease the pounding in his head. He fucked up in so many ways. He couldn’t get the sight of Eddie red faced and yelling out of his mind. His words kept ringing in his ears over and over again.

_Selfish._

Yeah, he was. He was selfish for taking his dad’s vodka. Selfish for never asking Eddie how he was. Never asking any of them how they were. He never even asked Stan how he was. All he was good for was distraction and reckless fun. And hurting his best friends apparently.

His best friends that were in love with him.

Fuck. Eddie looked so upset. Eddie _was_ so upset. And he was right to be.

He sighed heavily and tossed himself over onto his side, staring blankly at the wall. When he turns his entire world spins, tilting in front of him. Eddie probably hates him. Eddie probably never wants see him again. Not after last night. Not after how bad Richie fucked everything up.

Richie could feel the pity and shame rising up from the pit of his stomach. He could feel it working its way through his chest, his throat, his… oh wait. That’s vomit.

He leaned over the side of the couch, reaching desperately for the trashcan and dragging it over just in time to catch this morning’s breakfast.

Richie isn’t really sure what feels worse: the hangover or the emotional consequences that came with his choices. Probably the latter.

His body feels like a war is waging inside of him. Every time he moves his stomach cramps, every time he opens his eyes pain shoots through his head. The only comfortable solution is to lay as still as possible with his eyes closed. It doesn’t take much longer for Richie to fall asleep.

When he wakes up he feels considerably better. Well, physically. He can now stand up, which he does, and he can now hold down a glass of water, so he drinks one. It takes him a couple minutes to make his way around the kitchen, bathroom, and upstairs to his bedroom to put on a fresh set of clothes. He opts for loose cargo shorts and a ratty Depeche Mode shirt Stan got for him second hand at Christmas. After he changes and starts to feel maybe kind of like a person again, he debates calling Stan. He lingers on the idea for a while. Today is Stan’s morning for therapy which means he’s likely at home now. This also means Bill is with him.

He could still call. He could explain to them what happened at the Barrens and maybe they could help him make sense of everything. Maybe they could tell him how to fix things with Eddie. But that would mean he would have to tell them everything that happened. The drinking, the midnight breakout. The confession. He couldn’t do that.

The confession. Fuck. Eddie was in love with him. What the fuck was he going to do about that?

In the roughly twelve hours it’s been between their fight and Richie standing in his bedroom, he hasn’t had time to really sit and think about anything that happened. He was trying not to, honestly. He was trying not to think about the tone of Eddie’s voice and the way it cracked on certain words. He was trying not to think about how Eddie screamed at him. Like, _really_ screamed. He doesn’t think Eddie has ever yelled at him that seriously before. He was trying not to think about the look in Eddie’s eyes. He couldn’t give it one emotion. It wasn’t just anger, or hurt, or any one thing. It was everything Richie has ever tried to avoid. Eddie looked desperate, he looked _destroyed_.

Richie did that to him.

His stomach turned again, threatening another round of bile. He swallows it down and walks downstairs to the phone, picking it up and punching in the numbers on autopilot. The phone rings several times before a cheery voice comes over the line.

“Marsh residence, Beverly speaking!”

“Bev, hey.” He’s not sure why he called her. He isn’t sure what he wants from her. Did he want to talk about what happened? Was he looking for a distraction?

“Oh. Hi.” she cuts, tone falling flat immediately.

“Uhh, it’s Richie,” he tries, caught off guard by the immediate change in her tone. Maybe she doesn’t know it was him. A rock settles in his gut.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Uhh, okay. Listen, I was wondering if we could hang out. Maybe hit the bleachers?” His voice softens at the end. Bev is never this cold with him, never this standoffish. Its silent for a beat and Richie things about offering to buy Bev her own pack of cigarettes when the line cracks and he hears her speak again.

“I don’t think so, Rich,” she says cooly. Not the answer he was hoping for.

“Oh. Okay. Well maybe tomor-”

“Listen, Rich,” she cut him off, “I’m not mediating for you and Eddie. You need to fix this shit yourself.” Well fuck. Looks like she knows. And judging by her tone, she knows everything.

He’s quiet for a moment before beginning, “Bev-”

“You hurt him, Rich.” Her words send a jolt through his chest. It’s sharp and painful, originating from deep within his ribcage and spreading down into his lungs. It makes breathing harder and nothing seems okay anymore. He knows he hurt Eddie, he fucking _knows_ it, but to hear her say it makes it so much more real. Before it was only inside of him. It only existed in his head. Bev put it out there into the world. She made it a real, tangible force that could reach into his chest and rip his heart clean out of his body.

“I didn’t mean to.” Richie croaks out. He didn’t even realize how close he was to tears until they were threatening to spill out over his eyes.

She seems to soften at this, the hard edges of her voice melting away into the reciever. “I know, Richie. But you have to fix it.”

“I don’t know how,” comes out in nothing but a broke whisper.

“You’ll figure it out.”

It isn’t what he wants to hear. He wants her to tell him what to do, to tell him out to fix it with Eddie but this is all he gets from her. He’ll take it. It’s better than the venom from before that’s still working its way through his system.

They exchange quick goodbyes and then he’s standing in his living room listening to dead air through the phone. He knows he has to figure this out.  He has to fix this with Eddie. If he doesn’t, he could lose him entirely. Richie doesn’t know what he would do if that happened. All the Losers, yeah they’re great. But Eddie? Eddie completes him.

Them. Eddie completes _them_. They’re lucky seven, not lucky six. If Eddie and Richie have a major falling out it’ll throw off the group’s dynamic. It’ll ruin their whole vibe. They’ll never be able to hang out together as a group again. No more movie nights at Bill’s house. No more group hangs in the Barren’s. No more secret Santa. No more cuddle puddles. No more throwing Eddie over his shoulder. No more pinching Eddie’s cheeks. No more falling asleep together on the couch. No more reading comics with Eddie in his room. No more climbing through his window in the middle of the night. Everything Richie has built his life around will come falling apart. And then what? What will be left?

He _has_ to fix this. He has no idea where to start and he knows that if he marches up to Eddie with no plan of action he’s going to make things worse.

Eddie. Eddie, who’s in love with him. Eddie, who probably has wanted to kiss him for longer than he knows. Eddie, who’s late night cuddle sessions probably meant more to himself than Richie. Eddie, Eddie, _Eddie_.

Richie slips his shoes on and heads in the direction of the Derry Public Library. He knows he’ll find someone there who can help him.

When he walks in he looks around, searching for a familiar face. It takes a moment but he sees them. Sitting in the back corning, several books splayed around in front of them, were Mike and Ben.

He made a beeline for the table, pulling a chair out and sitting himself down. He caught them mid-conversation, something about interstates and highways or some shit. They stopped when he sat down, looking up at him curiously.

“Hey Richie. What brings you all the way out here to this fine learning establishment?” Mike implores, a smile dancing on his lips.

Richie levels him with a lopsided grin. “Mikey boy, I felt my heart calling out to you. It brought me here. And you know I’d never set foot in this place without a damn good reason.”

Ben snorts beside him. “Bullshit. We all know who your heart really belongs to.”

Mike laughs, slapping Ben on the shoulder and grinning over at Richie. “Oh, we sure do!”

Richie’s grin falters. This is the part where he is supposed to make an Eddie joke. Or a Mrs. K. joke. Neither of them feel right in his mouth. He rolls all of the possible responses around on his tongue before going with a simple, “Haystack gets off a good one,” with less tenacity than his usual banter.

“Everything alright there, Rich?” Mike asks, eyeing Richie cautiously. Ben looks over now, too, concern replacing his previous expression.

Richie hesitates again. He was tempted to cover it all up. He could do a voice, joke it off, talk about being bored with good ol’ Mrs. K. and wanting some new fresh MILF to bang. But isn’t this the whole reason he came here? He knew he would find Ben at least, the hopeless romantic.

“Oh yeah, Mike. Don’t worry about lil ol’ me. Just casually falling apart at the seams,” Richie said in a damsel-in-distress type voice. His eyes were locked with Mike, a smile dancing on his lips. Mike, being Mike, took the bait.

“Well, little lady. What could a nice young man such as myself do to stitch you back together?” Mike drawls, leaning across the table and resting his head in his hands.

“Well, it seems I’ve made a mess of damn near everything!” Richie cried, leaning hard into a southern accent. This earns him several stern looks from nearby patrons. Ben glances around nervously before _shh_ ing them softly. Neither of them seemed to notice because they continued on.

“Well, why don’t you tell Mikey here what’s wrong. Maybe I can fix it up real good for you.” Mike’s voice is honey sweet, dripping slowly from his lips.

Richie’s smile falters, only for a second, and he opens his mouth to reply. Before he can, though, Ben stands up, gathering his books and motioning for them to follow him with a simple, “We’re not doing this here. You guys are too loud.”

Together they leave the library and walk across to McCarron Park.

There they sit in a small triangle, Mike to Richie’s right and Ben to his left. Ben is sprawled out, leaning back on his side and staring up at the sky. Mike, however, has his eyes trained on Richie. They started this thing and Mike wasn’t going to back down now.

“So, little lady. Tell old Mikey here what’s ailing you.” He’s soft, but firm. Mike leavesYe no room for argument, no room for running away.

“Well, you see,” he starts, drawling the words out. “My knight, sir Edward, is mighty mad at me,”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve made a mistake, Mikey.” Richie whines, “A terrible mistake. I’ve gone and outdone myself. A little bit too much of my sweet, sweet, spirits and sir Eddie has gone and got all of his panties in a twist over it.” It isn’t the absolute truth, but how else was he going to get his point across?

“Tell me, Rich.”

“That’s a long story mister Michael,” Richie warns. He starts ahead anyway. Mike and him bantered back and forth in their fake southern accents, both playing the part they had given themselves. He tells Mike of how he went down to the barrens to partake in a little bit of late night fun. He talks about how Eddie came down and found him. He talks about their dancing and how much fun they had together. He spends a good chunk of time talking about that. He would rather talk about the good parts. He would go back to that moment again if he could. He would give anything to be able to sweep Eddie back into his arms, hold him, sway with him, tease him. But he can’t and it’s his own damn fault.

Eventually, after a sharp look from Mike, Richie falls into the most important part of the story. Mike watches him carefully. He looks at Richie like he’s studying him. Like he’s trying to read in between the lines for some hidden meaning Richie hasn’t figured out yet. Ben was now sitting up, staring at Richie, too, and occasionally sparing a glance at Mike.

Richie paused, hesitating when he got to the climax of their fight. He has two options here. He can tell Ben and Mike the whole truth. He can tell them about Eddie. He can tell them what Eddie said and how he told Richie he loved him. Richie knows he can trust them. Mike and Ben are steadfast in their loyalty. He can tell them about how he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He can’t fix a broken heart. He’s Richie Tozier, he can’t even fix his own broken head.

Or. Or, Richie can omit that part. He can tell them that Eddie stalked off into the night and was now furious with Richie and Richie wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t sure how to approach Eddie like this. Eddie has never been this angry at him before. He’s never been this serious.

Eddie has never been this hurt.

“Eddie said he hated me and then he left.” Richie whispers, his Voice lost back in the depths of his confessions. It falls from his lips involuntarily, like an automatic prayer. It isn’t the truth and he knows it. Mike and Ben know it, too, because the look they share is short but skeptical. Ben is the first to speak up.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean that, Rich. You know how Eddie can get. He’s all emotion sometimes.”

“Yeah, Benny boy. I know he is. That’s why I think he really did mean it this time.” Richie responds.

“What about you,” Mike says next. He talks slow and carefully, picking his words like strawberries from a field. “How are you feeling in all of this. Do you hate him, back?”

Richie’s voice catches in his throat and he hesitates. Mike is staring him down with meaningful eyes. His gaze is burning a hole through Richie’s head and suddenly everything begins to click into place. It isn’t quite there yet, but the cogs are turning in the machine. Mike knows something. Mike understands Richie and this whole situation better than Richie does himself. Mike is better at reading between the lines than any other Loser. He understands the nuances, he sees the real meanings.

“Of course not, Mike. I could never hate Eddie.”

“Then how do you feel?” Ben asks, coming back into the conversation. Ben’s always been quick on the uptake and Richie has no doubt in his mind that he understands now, too.

“I don’t know.”

All of Richie’s walls are falling down around him. Every defense he’s ever made has weakened in this single conversation. Everything leading up to right now – the Barrens, the nightmares, the fight – has chipped away at Richie. He has no more Voices to hide behind. There are no more sideways smiles, no more jokes, no more shenanigans.

“I think it’s time you figured that out, Richie.” Mike hums. His voice is calm and gentle but final in that way that only Mike is. Richie simply nods, thanks them, and picks himself up off the ground.

He starts slowly towards home. That wasn’t what he went there for. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from Mike and Ben but he was sure as hell that wasn’t it. He was hoping for a quick fix. He wanted them to give him more advice other than _figure it out, Richie._

He can feel that inner machine whirling. He’s on the brink of something but he doesn’t know what. It’s frustrating to no end. Nothing is making sense. Why did Mike and Ben only ask about Richie and not Eddie and what happened? If they really knew like they seemed to, they would have asked Richie all about it. He knows he would have. He would have grilled any one of them for details. _What happened? What did he say? Are you sure he likes you? Do you like him back? What are you go–_

Wait.

Do you like him back.

_“Then how do you feel?”_

Ben asked him that. Was Ben asking if he liked Eddie back? Fuck. Richie can’t remember what he had said. He has no idea.

He said doesn’t know. Why did he say that? He doesn’t know if he likes Eddie back? This is something he should know. But if he didn’t, the answer would be simple, cut and dry. If he didn’t like Eddie back there would be no confusion.

Somewhere in the distance a clock strikes three. The sound of a gong echoes through Derry once, twice, three times. At the same moment the gears inside of Richie click into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please remind me to never write in present tense ever again. 
> 
> We're almost there, folks! One more chapter to go!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has shown support and commented. I love you all so much. My goal is to have the next chapter up within the week. <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The choice they make here will define their entire friendship. They can reconcile here and now, hold each other under the setting sun in the Barrens or they can walk away from each other and never really figure out how to fix this mess.

Richie finds himself alone for the next couple of weeks. It’s not that he doesn’t have any options, he just doesn’t feel the need to take anyone up on their offers. His days consist of hanging out in his room or wandering down to different parts of the Barrens if he feels up to it. He doesn’t mean to, but he actively avoids the other Losers. He doesn’t hang out in spots he knows they might be, he avoids the roads they often take together, and he makes a point of avoiding the phone when it rings. The weight of his actions sits too heavily on his shoulders for him to pretend everything is okay right now.

And it’s not that it isn’t okay. It is, in a way. Nothing is explicitly wrong. Things are just not right. They’re not as they should be. Everything is off in his life. Eddie isn’t speaking to him, or maybe he isn’t speaking to Eddie. He hasn’t tried since their fight. Bev isn’t speaking to him, either. He reached out once or twice but she shuts him down every time, telling him to get his shit together and fix things. She’s not wrong, but how is he supposed to do that when he still isn’t even sure what happened in the first place?

Well, he knows what happened. He just doesn’t like to think about it. He ends up spending weeks ignoring the problem. He doesn’t sleep nearly as much as he wants to. He’s too scared that the monsters will come crawling out through his floorboards, reaching their hands up onto his bed to take him in his sleep. Instead, he reads comic books, watches television, even does some chores for his parents. Anything to distract himself. His parents don’t ask but he knows they’re onto something. He heard them talking about him once, saying something about him looking tired, or him acting strange. Him leaving the house less.

The distractions work at first, but his thoughts creep out from the back of his mind as the days wear on. The look on Eddie’s face, the way Mike and Ben looked at each other, the tone of Bev’s voice. All of these reminded him of how badly he fucked up and that made that faint, faint itch in the back of his throat burn more.

The bottle is still sitting untouched in his backpack. The backpack itself hasn’t moved. It’s still sitting in the same corner he dropped it in when he got home that night. He’s scared that if he moves it, opens it up, all of the choices he’s made will come pouring out of it and swallow him whole.

It’s almost all consuming, the way he’s been feeling lately. It would be easy to drown in it and he thinks he might be. He might be drowning in the fear, the constant anxiety he feels. Something is around every corner or lurking in every shadow. He feels like he’ll never be safe again. He might be drowning in the pure loneliness of it all. The isolation. How could anyone possibly know how he’s feeling? Mike, Stan, Bill, they’re all so much stronger than him. And yeah, Stan was still working through his shit but who was Richie to burden him with even more? Stan got so bad after that even his parents were worried. Who is Richie to fuck him up even more?

Eddie, though. His words keep replaying in Richie’s mind. Eddie screaming at him in the Barren’s, confessing to still seeing his own nightmares. Eddie, who had spent all year reaching out to Richie only for Richie to inadvertently push him away. Eddie, who was in love with Richie.

Was.

Now? Who fucking knows. Who fucking knows anything. Richie sure as hell doesn’t. Richie doesn’t even know what he feels. He’s spent so long blocking out his own emotions that he can’t sort through them. He doesn’t _want_ to sort through them. It’s too late for anything good to come of it anyway.

The days pass by like this. Richie drawing further and further into himself. He falls asleep at two in the morning and wakes up screaming by six. He feels the exhaustion wear into his bones. Some days he can’t even bring himself to get off the couch. He stews, his head in a fog and his body screaming at him, desperate for something more than he’s willing to give it. He performs the basic tasks: eat food with his parents, go to the bathroom, shower once a week.

The decay of Richie Tozier happens so slowly, so gradually that he almost doesn’t realize how bad it’s gotten until he’s neck deep.

He almost misses the knock at his door in the midst of his haze. It comes in short bursts, persistent and loud. He could choose not to answer it, not to get off the couch, but Maggie is expecting something in the mail from one of her college friends and if he doesn’t sign for the delivery she’s gonna be pissed. So, he pulls himself off the couch and makes his way to the door. The sharp knocks come again, quicker this time, and he cuts them off by yanking the door open. The person standing on the other side, however, is not some uniformly dressed postal man. It’s Stan, pressed and proper and looking mildly annoyed. That quickly fades, though, as he takes in the sight before him. They’re two opposite ends of the spectrum. There Stan is, in his khakis and suspenders and collared shirt, standing opposite to Richie who basically looks like he’s been run over by a semi. His hair is both weighed down by grease and sticking up in all directions, the bags under his eyes are dark and his eyes themselves are bloodshot. His shirt is stained with food and God knows what else and he’s been wearing the same boxers for roughly a week, not that Stan needs to know that.

They stare at each other for a moment, taking the other in, before Richie steps to the side to let Stan into his house.

“Richie, we’re worried,” Stan starts, diving right in.

“Staniel!” Richie returns, completely glossing past the concerned look in his friend’s eyes. “No need my good friend, I’m in tip top shape!” His tone is bright and cheery, a stark contrast to how he looks.

“Cut the shit. No one has seen or heard from you in like two weeks. What’s going on?” Stan’s voice is the exact opposite of Richie’s. It cuts through the veil Richie created and leaves Richie floundering. Stan was good like that, he had this uncanny ability to dismantle any veil Richie put up, gutting him.

“Nothing is wrong,” Richie fires back. He turns on his heel and heads into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pouring himself a glass of lemonade. He pours one for Stan, too.

“Then why do you look like absolute shit?” Stan’s voice comes from behind him, softer this time.

Richie turns back around, fake cheer written all of his face and in his voice. “It’s summer! I’m supposed to not care about how I look”

“Yeah but this,” Stan gestures to all of Richie, “is going a bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re over reacting,” Richie says. The smile still on his face betrays the tone of his voice. It’s a warning.

“I think you’re being stupid,” Stan quips. He looks like he’s about to say more, but he just sighs as he shifts on his feet. “Look, I didn’t come here to fight with you. Everyone’s hanging out at the Barren’s today. You’d know if you bothered to pick up the phone. It won’t be the same without you.”

There’s a little hint of something in his voice, something that sways Richie to Stan’s side. He knows he should say yes, he wants to say yes, but he can’t help that residual feeling that lingers in the back corners of his mind. When Richie says sure, he’ll come, it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Stan doesn’t understand the weight of this situation but Richie doesn’t have the energy to find excuses and fight.

He knew he would have to face them again but he didn’t think it would be so soon. He thought he would at least have more time than a quick shower and lunch. That’s just not the way the universe works, he figures. It’s never really worked in his favor anyway.

He finds himself sitting in the grass, wedged between Bill and Stan with conversation flowing freely around him. He’s content to just sit and listen, idly playing with the blades of grass by his knee. He got odd looks from the others when he first got to the Barrens. Richie had made a weak attempt at a joke and has been uncharacteristically silent since. It’s hard for him to engage with the way everyone stares at him. He’d rather sit and observe than have to face their eyes – the way Mike and Ben shoot him pitying looks, the way Bev doesn’t quite glare but doesn’t quite not glare, the way Eddie won’t even look at him at all.

Eddie sits across from him, leaning against Bev and avoiding any and all glances Richie throws his way. Richie doesn’t know how to break the silence between them. He doesn’t know how to shatter this awkward, blistering tension he’s created. He doesn’t even notice when the conversation shifts. He’s too focused on getting Eddie to look at him, hoping Eddie can read his mind. _I’m sorry, please look at me, please forgive me, please don’t leave me_.

Eddie is beautiful in all of the ways Richie never noticed before but has always known. There are the conventionally beautiful parts of him, like his hair and his eyes, and then there are the parts of him that only Richie knows. There’s the way Eddie sucks in a small breath when he’s annoyed or delighted – Richie can tell them apart by the pitch alone. There’s the way his eyes cast down when he’s embarrassed and his hands clench at his sides before his anxiety spikes. There’s the way foot endlessly taps to some unknown rhythm Richie is dying to sync up to a melody. He could create a symphony of all the subtle, soft sounds Eddie creates simply by existing. There’s the way Eddie is never truly calm or still unless he is with someone he loves, someone he trusts.

He’s still now, resting against Bev’s shoulder and listening to the steady flow of voices around him and Richie can’t help it, he can’t help but realize how stupid he’s been for so long. Eddie has been within his reach for his entire life, always at the end of his fingertips, but not anymore. Now, Eddie sits far and untouched and stoic and Richie kicks himself for never realizing this sooner.

_You and Eddie. You’re good for each other._

“I don’t know guys. I juh-just, sometimes I feel so fucked up. You know?”

Richie’s attention snaps back just in time for him to hear a chorus of hums from the others. He turns to see Bill picking at the rubber on his shoes, eyes hidden by his slightly overgrown hair. The mood in the group seems to shift, then, but Richie could hardly notice it. It’s what he had been feeling for so long that it felt natural. Like everyone was finally on the level he’s been at this entire time.

“No, I get it Bill. It’s like… sometimes I see a bird’s shadow on the ground and I can’t even think straight. All I feel is fear. But other times it all feels like a dream. Did it happen?” Mike says form the other side of their little circle. His eyes are soft but far away, lost in some deep thought. Richie can’t help but remember how Mike faced that giant bird alone with nothing but broken tiles and his own blinding bravery.

“It was real, Mike. You can’t forget that,” Beverly says. Her voice is firm and sharp, leaving no room for arguments. Her eyes fall to Richie when she speaks again. “It’s real and we didn’t go through it alone.”

Another chorus of hums echoes around the circle as Richie breaks eye contact with her so he can keep fiddling with the grass.

“Yeah, I mean what we did was crazy! Almost completely unbelievable. But at least we have each other, right?” Ben asks, voice some mixture of amusement and nerves.

A soft silence settles over the group again. Everyone seems preoccupied with their own thoughts until the next person speaks up. Richie doesn’t expect it to be himself. The dam inside of him, the one he didn’t even know he built, starts to crack under the pressure. He isn’t even aware of the words falling from his lips until he’s in too deep, too far to take anything back.

“I have nightmares every night. Been having them for so long I can’t even tell what’s a memory and what was just a dream,” Richie pauses and looks around. All eyes are on him. Even Eddie has lifted his head and is now looking at him with curious, concerned eyes. “I can’t even sleep anymore. I’m so scared all the time. I’m so tired. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone.”

The more he talks, the more relief floods his system. He can feel Stan winding his arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. It’s a comforting gesture and it works. It encourages him to keep going, keep talking about what’s been ripping him apart from the inside out. The others join in. They share their own nightmares, their own stories of the past year. Each one is as heart breaking as the last because, had they known, they could have all been there for each other. Instead they all shoved it down, pretended it wasn’t happening. Instead they all suffered in silence, choosing to fight their battles alone instead of lean on the ones who love them.

By the end of it they’re all crying, clinging to one another as if their lives depend on it. Richie is wrapped up with Bill and Stan, sandwiched between them. Bev has Eddie in her lap, soothing his tears with her gentle fingers. She’s splayed across Ben, who is leaning on Mike, who has his hands running through Stan’s curly hair. No one is even talking anymore but there is a wave of calm washing over the group as their hiccups turn into light sniffles. Richie can’t remember a time he’s felt so light, so loved. He’s spent so long locked inside of his own mind that he almost lost this.

Mike is the first to break the spell when the sun begins to set. He gets up and walks around the group, placing an affectionate kiss to each of their foreheads before saying goodbye and heading home. Stan and Bill follow ten minutes later. Instead of kisses everyone gets a tight hug from each of them. They disappear on the other side of the tree line, Stan riding double on Silver down the road to their homes.

Richie moves to leave next, not wanting to put anyone in the awkward position of having to walk him home or leave him alone down in the Barrens. He knows Bev will want to leave with Eddie and he isn’t quite sure where he stands with them, right now. Nothing against Ben, either. Now Ben won’t be put in the awkward position of choosing who to walk home with.

Before leaving, he moves in give Ben a tight hug. Ben’s warmth envelopes him back for a moment before he pulls back and whispers, _we’re all here for you_ into Richie’s ear. Richie shoots him a grateful smile before turning towards the other two. He hesitates, but only for a moment. Bev doesn’t give him more than that. She quickly scoops him into her arms and presses a kiss to his temple. It’s warm, sweet, and so comforting that Richie feels himself relax immediately into her touch.

He feels his eyes burn as the emotions he hasn’t felt all summer begin to overwhelm him again. It’s as if the cloud that was settled over his mind has lifted and the sudden rush of feeling is sending his brain into overdrive. He holds it in, though. Sucks back the tears and presses his face into her neck before pulling back. She gives him a meaningful look and then she’s gone, stepping back into line with the other two.

All that’s left is him and Eddie. There’s an unspoken tension that’s yet to be broken. It didn’t break with Richie’s arrival, with his confession, or with their shared tears. Eddie has given him little to no acknowledgement besides a firm hold on his shoe while he sobbed in the grass.  Now, though, they’re at a crossroads. The choice they make here will define their entire friendship. They can reconcile here and now, hold each other under the setting sun in the Barrens or they can walk away from each other and never really figure out how to fix this mess.

Richie is about to make a move, about to bring his arms up to wrap around Eddie when Eddie’s voice cuts through the silence. His arms do no more than twitch at his sides as he hears, “Well, I guess we’ll catch you around then, Trashmouth.”

Eddie sends Richie a thin smile and turns on his heels, keeping his arms crossed over his chest as he sets off toward the road. Bev and Ben both shoot Richie sympathetic looks before turning to follow and suddenly he is alone in the Barrens once again. This time his feet don’t stay still and he doesn’t stumble over upturned rocks and branches. Instead, he slowly follows them out. He comes up to the road much slower and stands, watching, as the three of them get swallowed by the sunset before making his own way down Kansas street in an aimless journey.

Richie takes his time, taking unnecessary turns down West Broadway and passing by Bill’s house. He glances up at the window to Georgie’s old room and for a moment he swears he can see the small boy playing with his toys on his bed. The image is gone when he blinks, leaving nothing but a dark window and aching memories.

Georgie was too young, too perfect to be stolen from this world. He missed so much, never made it far enough to be so perfectly tainted in the way growing up does. All that he is and all that he’ll ever be is scabbed knees and paper boats while Bill and everyone else gets to keep wandering. Their souls forever marred by the horrors they were a part of.

Richie wonders what he did in his past lives to curse him enough to live but bless him enough to give him the will to keep surviving.

Before he knows where his feet have carried him, Richie finds himself standing at the edge of the Kaspbrak lawn. The dim street lights cast a ghost of his shadow across the grass. Maybe that shadow, in some parallel universe, knows how to survive better than he does. It might know how to fight the demons and sleep through the night. Maybe it knows the answers to every question in the universe. Maybe it never had to ask.

His hands find purchase on the same branches and knobs they always used to and he hoists himself up the side of the house. Eddie’s window is a homing beacon for him, a lighthouse in his maelstrom.

The window is already open when he reaches it so instead of knocking he climbs right in. Eddie startles immediately but keeps his mouth shut. He eyes Richie carefully as Richie removes his shoes and places them by the window close to the wall and stands up straight.

He didn’t think this far ahead but it’s okay because he never does. He never has to think with Eddie. He never has to cross on eggshells or shelter his too loud brain. Despite keeping his demons locked under key in his chest, Richie has never once had to shelter his being from Eddie. He is allowed to exist in the simplest of terms.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” the words roll out of his mouth like water and once the floodgates open they cannot be closed. “I’m sorry I was too selfish to see you were hurting by yourself and then I just went and stacked even more on. I never meant for this to happen. I just – fuck,” Richie voice hitches and he sucks in a wet breath before continuing, “I shut you out. I shut everyone out. I didn’t know what to do. I thought, maybe if I pretended it wasn’t happening it would go away. I thought if I ignored everything everyone would be better off. I didn’t want to keep everyone else in the sewers with me.”

Tears race hot and heavy down his face for the second time that evening. He wants to reach out for comfort, wrap up tightly in Eddie’s arms to sooth but pain, but he stands still at the edge of the room. He has to do this.

_You know there’s nothing wrong with it, right?_

“I can’t lose you, Eds. You’re my best friend. You’re my, my – Fuck. I didn’t even realize how much I loved you until I lost you. Until you were gone and it was all my fault and _I’m sorry._ ”

With that, Richie crumbles. His body shakes with the force of his sobs and he’s distantly surprised Sonia hasn’t come bursting through the door to check on Eddie. He folds in half, hugging his stomach and heaving in breaths through his sobs. He isn’t even aware of Eddie’s arms joining his or the way he’s led to the bed and laid down.

Eddie holds onto him, rocking him through his hurricane until the rain stops falling and the wind lets up.

“You can’t live like this forever, Rich,” he whispers into Richie’s hair. And Richie hears him, he hears everything Eddie has to say. “We gotta get you some help.”

Richie nods rapidly, knocking Eddie’s jaw and causing his teeth to crack together. The force of it causes them to pull away from each other, Eddie rubbing at his jaw and Richie apologizing profusely.

Maybe it’s the way Richie’s tears gave way to laughter or the way the light from the lamp is catching on Eddie’s eye lashes. Richie impulsively reaches out and takes Eddie’s face in his hands, replacing Eddie’s own hand to smooth over his jaw gently as if he can fix the past month, the past year of hurt by soothing the ache in Eddie’s skin.

They both know it’s not as simple as that.

Eddie closes his eyes and leans into the feeling of Richie’s palms on his skin, the feeling of Richie swiping his thumb under Eddie’s eye in a gesture that is so comforting and so exhilarating at the same time. And Richie feels it. He feels the air shift in the room and when Eddie opens his eyes he can see the small fire burning under the calm.

Richie blames what happens next on impulse, too. He leans in, making his intentions clear while also giving Eddie enough time to pull away if he wants to. Eddie doesn’t and before Richie has enough time to think about the decisions he’s made his lips are pressing gently against Eddie’s.

Richie doesn’t have enough time to process the feeling of Eddie’s soft lips under his or the strong taste of toothpaste and menthol chap stick because as fast as it happened Eddie pulls away.

“This won’t fix you, Richie. _I_ can’t fix you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes are pinched shut and Richie can see the beginnings of tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “If that’s what this is, I can’t help you.”

Instead of responding Richie pulls him in again, slotting their lips together more forcefully and hoping that this touch, this connection, can make up for all of the words he never even knew were inside of him.

“It’s not, Eds. I’m gonna fix me. I’m gonna do the work. I’m not gonna pull away this time, either,” Richie says softly. It’s a promise to both Eddie and himself. To his parents and his friends and his own demons. He won’t let them win. He won’t let that creature from the night drag him away from the only place he’s ever truly known happiness. He’s not going to let IT stop him in his tracks, freeze him up so he can die as nothing more than a boy in his bed who let his fear get the better of him.

No, he’s not destined for that. He has parents who love him and friends who would give their lives for him. He has Eddie whose staring at him like he’s everything harmful and somehow still holy in this world. He’s tainted black with his choices and trauma but he’s still here and he’s not done yet. And when Eddie leans back in, eyes pleading in a silent question that Richie doesn’t have the answers to, Richie leans in, too. Not because he wants Eddie to fix him or because he wants to fix Eddie, but because he can. Because he knows what he wants now. And he wants to be better, he wants to be happy, and he wants Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done! My first big multichapter project is finished! Thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos, and hasn't abandoned this!
> 
> This was a lot of fun to work on and it was really cool for me to be able to explore my own interpretation of Riches' trauma, as well as the group dynamics. Let me know what you thought of this whole thing, I die for comments or anything of the like. 
> 
> reddie-for-anything.tumblr.com!


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